


These DragonHaunted Days

by semiiramiis (HikaruAdjani)



Category: Guild Wars 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruAdjani/pseuds/semiiramiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoiler Alert! Just like Fog and Roses, closely follows but is not completely exact a new character's starting experience. If you don't want to ruin it, be careful! Ulrich is a street rat from the great city of Divinity's Reach,but not for long!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The man dozed uneasily in the sweltering, airless heat. The storage room he was in had never been designed as a bedroom, especially for the height of summer. Flies drank on his sweat, and he tossed irritably, shooing them away. Finally, he came awake, glaring at the wall next to him. He was beyond tired, grimy, sweaty and now had a pounding, dehydrated headache.

Ulrich sighed, sitting up slowly. There was no way he was going to get any sleep like this. Which meant that today would be no different than the last two, and he was desperate for a just a couple of hours of cool, deep, uninterrupted sleep. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, which was just as filthy as the rest of him, and stumbled around crates and into the street beyond the door.

"Drunk bastard." A sharp voice startled him, and he sent the woman he had nearly run over an evil glare. He was most certainly not drunk. If he was, he'd probably manage the sleep idea better. But then, he'd be drunk. And that was not a wise idea, especially recently.

He arched a sarcastic eyebrow and pointed to the sign prominently displayed above the door of the warehouse which read "Door opens to street, beware."

"Better drunk than illiterate." He snapped back, and immediately regretted it. He was drawing attention to himself doing this, and that was something he really needed to avoid, not court. He dismissed her, heading resolutely towards his goal, the ornate fountain in the square beyond. That would help. It had to, because he was running out of options here.

He knelt before it, plunging his entire head and shoulders into the icy water. It was stunningly cold, and his headache exploded in the second before it calmed down again. His hair shed the dust that had left it beige, and a plume of dirt marked the fountain for just a second, until it dissipated into clarity. Tiny bright fish flitted across his skin, and he wished he just didn't have to breathe. That he could stay there, forever, just like one of those fish. A fanciful idea, one for children and he was not one of those anymore. He also sensed the proximity of someone watching him, and he came up for air, looking for the person with eyes on him. Found, already?

No. He had no idea who the man watching him was. The newcomer was obviously a little far from home, beautifully garbed, with a grip on the leash of one of the most beautiful drakehounds he'd ever seen. It was another young man, almost effeminately presented, but he could feel that the man was more dangerous than he looked. For a noble, he seemed content to wait patiently, none of the spite and anger that the young man was used to getting from that crowd.

"Is it good?" The noble asked when he'd stopped sputtering and clearing his face.

"Yes. It is." Why was the man waiting, so patiently? The hound leaned against its leash and whined pleadingly, head pointed towards the fountain. Ah, the dog was thirsty, and he'd been in its way.

"Good. Are you finished?"

"Uh, sure." He could always come back when the dog was done, even if he wasn't.

"Miserably hot day." The nobleman noted with a rueful smile, relaxing his hold on the dog. Ulrich would bet so, while he envied the quality and cleanliness of the noble's clothes, he didn't envy their opulent weight. It wasn't a day for a 'proper' set of clothes, and that man's clothes definitely qualified.

"It's going to be worse later." By the depths of the shadows clinging to the tightly packed buildings, it was still early. He'd scraped out only three hours of a poor sleep; it was going to be a long day. His headache was abating, but he still felt pale, empty, with a warning of a fever rising. He needed food, but the icy water he'd just drank sat uneasily in his belly, and it wasn't as if he had the coin to purchase food anyway. There were other ways, but he refused. He was tired of that. He was tired of everything. He didn't want to play anymore. He wanted clean clothes. He wanted a dog. A home, with food in the kitchen, linen on the beds, peaceful and cozy. He wanted people who knew his name, and used it with respect. He wanted to be just about anybody but who he was.

The noble snorted, wrinkling his nose as he stared upwards. It was deathly still, on this day not even the omnipresent confetti would fly, unless an annoyed elementalist made it do so. "That's why I took the dog for a walk this early."

Pretty and wise, Ulrich was almost impressed. But the longer he stayed in the open, the greater the chance he'd be seen, so he gave the nobleman a slight wave and vanished into the warren of alleys he knew so well.

He found a quiet, almost cool corner, and settled down. He'd weighed his options, few as they were, once again. And once again, came up with only two. Stay here, in Divinity's Reach, and become what everyone expected… just another gang thug. He could hide the truth from Two-Blade Pete for only so long, eventually he was going to get caught, and that would be the end of that. He'd be stuck, trapped, bitter and sad. Or…leave Divinity's Reach. A truly terrifying thought, he'd lived his entire life in this city. It had started out as a haven, but the older he got, the more like a prison it seemed. Prison. There was another issue. Ulrich just didn't have it in him to be a thug. He was terrible at it, and his heart yearned for other things. He was tired of hiding from everybody, from the Seraph who wanted to clean him off of the streets; from his gang who wanted him to do things he knew were wrong. For every harebrained idea Pete came up, Ulrich's mind came up with a thousand reasons why it was stupid, wrong, and would end up with Ulrich cooling his heels in prison. While cool did sound almost inviting, prison did not. And with the Seraph and their Captain Thackeray cracking down on gang activity, that chance grew. Worse, Ulrich had been hearing rumors that Thackeray was more than willing to forget about the whole prison thing for more and more of the gangs' leaderships, and it was just Ulrich's luck to end his short enough life executed by Seraph city guards. No. It was becoming increasingly untenable here. And the only other option was to not be here anymore. To find his own way, away from Divinity's Reach. Away from the gang. Away from Seraph who wanted to make an example out of him.

"Make up your bloody mind, Ulrich." He hissed to himself, still uncertain. This was home…

Yes, the city was home. But that didn't mean he wasn't supposed to go out there and be part of the solution and not part of the problem. If he really called Divinity's Reach home, then he was doing her no favors by turning to a life of crime and turning his back on the increasingly solid plans of going out there and doing something for her. He didn't want to be part of her underbelly, wormy and preying on her better folk. He wanted a home, and to walk down her streets proudly.

His mind made itself up in that moment and he galvanized into motion. He'd been hiding coin for quite awhile, since his vague unease had begun to coalesce, and his eyes had begun to change. He recovered the small bag from its hiding place, and left Salma, headed across the city to a neighborhood that would not recognize him quite as easily as his own home turf did.

Once there, he spent an hour haggling over clothes better than his ragged, sweat stained garments, real boots, and a bath at an inn he'd never been in before.

He'd walked in as a filthy, barefoot street rat with brown streaked, spiky hair, and walked out as a rather handsome and prosperous looking young man with shining red gold hair. He walked right down the middle of the street, responding to every greeting thrown at him with a smile and a nod. Yes, this was right. This was good. Now, all he had to do was actually earn this…

There were four white armored Seraph at the city gates, and his shoulders tightened in fear. They were never good, never ever good. He bit his bottom lip and kept right walking towards them. He'd done nothing wrong, yet. They had nothing; he was as free to leave Divinity's Reach as any other citizen of Kryta.

"Morning." He greeted when he drew close. Would they stop him? Question him? Damned if he knew, he'd never actually tried to leave the city before.

And the answer was no. They merely nodded back a greeting and let him through the gates for the first time in Ulrich's memory.


	2. Chapter 2

The road south of Divinity's Reach was hot, dusty, glaringly bright. It took less than an hour for Ulrich's stomach to angrily remind him that he had not eaten that morning, or the night before. In fact, when he considered it, it had been a good long time since he had eaten. If only there had been a spare penny for something to eat this morning, but his clothes had taken every one he'd had, and only some sharp haggling had made the few he had spread far enough for those clothes. He sighed, staring at the bushes beside the road next to him, laden with dusty blue berries. He was sure that there was food all around him, but he was a city boy, and he stood as much chance of poisoning himself as he did of feeding himself. No, he'd restrain himself from trying those, the last thing he wanted was to be out here, on this road, alone, and puking his guts up. In this heat, he could die of that, and if he really wanted to die there were plenty in Divinity's Reach that could oblige that desire faster than dehydration would take him.

He frowned, staring ahead. Common knowledge told him that the village of Shaemoor was ahead, and that brought concern. He was about to arrive in a place he didn't know, with empty pockets, and not a friend in sight. He was irrevocably insane, that's what he was…

He could see the village below him, and his first thought was that it was very rustic and small compared to the giant city slumbering behind a haze of dust behind him. Not a lot of places to hide and get lost in, everybody would know everybody. Really not the sort of place for him. If he turned back now, he could make Divinity's Reach right after the change of the guard. He could manage to find food. He could forget this and remember just who and what he was…absolutely nothing. He stopped, half turned, to where he could see Divinity's Reach out of his left eye, and Shaemoor out of his left. Who was he fooling? His mind was almost made up; he was even turning on the road, when he heard hooves. Lots of hooves, and he stared in confusion. Caravan? They sounded too fast and excitable for pack oxen. Seraph? They had nothing that would sound like that, to the best of his knowledge…

A few moments later, he was certain that those weren't Seraph, unless the population of Shaemoor commonly screamed and fled at the approach of the Queen's army. A bell began pealing, belatedly, just a second before he heard the shout.

"Centaurs!"

Ulrich froze in spite of the bitter sun that beat down on his head. What? No. Not today, not now. He was dizzy from heat and an empty stomach, empty handed, there was nowhere to run to and Shaemoor was under attack by centaurs. Yes, his luck was definitely holding.

"For the Tamini!"

A large, brown equine form had plunged through the center of Shaemoor and was coming right at him. If he didn't do something, this was all going to be very short. He sighed, set his stance, and threw his hand out in its direction. Die.

It staggered, and he felt suddenly better, like he'd eaten. Not a good meal but more than he'd actually had. He set his expression, and focused. I said die, damn you.

It went ass end over teakettle, a welter of hooves and tail. There was a shadow floating beside him, but Ulrich already knew what it was. The more he killed, the better it would be, with the blood fiend coalesced beside him. He already felt a hundred times better than before, sated, rested, and ready. It had been a bad enough day, and now he had targets to take out his frustrations on.

He came into Shaemoor behind a makeshift breastworks of crates manned by a few harried Seraph. They barely glanced at him, and when he stepped into his next cast, made room for him to see his targets easily.

"Go for the archers!" One of them ordered after a moment of watching Ulrich tear down an oncoming centaur without moving from his protected spot. "We can handle the warriors once they get here. We need to break this now, and get the approach to the inn open for refuge."

Ulrich gave him a blank look; he had no idea where Shaemoor's inn was. It was precious enough that it was given in the singular; there was only one for the village. "Where am I opening up?" He asked, and the Seraph pointed off to the right. "Right." Kill centaur archers, focusing on the right hand side. Not a problem. It seemed like the older that Ulrich got, the easier this came. Now he had to work to not do it, to not manifest the blood fiend, to tamp down the silvery glow in his eyes, to not strike out at Pete or any other member of the gang who annoyed or unnerved him. That was one of the reasons why he was out here; he couldn't keep hiding this part of his nature. Ulrich was a necromancer, and if Pete knew that, then there would be no chance of escape from the gang. He would be stuck, too precious to let go.

But part of the escape plan was to prove his worth, and what better place to start than with the Seraph contingent here in Shaemoor? They'd report, possibly even back to Captain Thackeray, and that could be Ulrich's first step out of this hell. He nodded sharply to himself and moved forward. They'd put enough pressure on the centaur to keep them away from the approach to Divinity's Reach, which was wonderful. But holding Shaemoor would require more than a bottleneck, it required securing that inn for a fallback position. He motioned, and the ground next to him seethed, before two forms popped out of the boiling ground. They were, if possible, even more disgusting than the blood fiend trailing him like a child's macabre play balloon… two flayed dogs with human skull faces… but Ulrich had long since come to peace with the grotesque expression of the art embroidered upon his soul.

"Go." He ordered, and they pelted towards the fray with the same joy as a pair of prized hunting hounds. They wouldn't last long, but that was fine. There were many more where they came from, Ulrich could tap a vast reservoir of them.

He came up behind the beleaguered inn, trailing the wake of his minions. Once he made the steps to the door, he turned to face down the remaining centaur attackers. This was better than fun, this was right. This was what he'd been missing his entire life. His gift wasn't meant to be hidden, it was meant to be unleashed upon Kryta's enemies, for the wellbeing of her citizens. He really was part of the answer, an asset, not just some little guttersnipe aspiring for nothing more than gang leadership.

He unleashed on the whittled down cluster of centaur before him, and when they turned to face him, the Seraph manning the breastworks charged the centaurs' suddenly exposed flank.

He'd thought they would break, run, but they did not, fighting to the last. And it was over, just like that. Ulrich's certainty died with the last one, fading with the pop of the fiend dissipating behind him. Everyone here knew his greatest secret now. There was no hiding, no denying…

A runner burst into the commons, heading straight for the Seraph commander. Ulrich was glad of the distraction; he really didn't have a response for the woman's contemplative, weighty stare.

"The centaur are overrunning the Garrison!" The runner panted, "Captain Thackeray is asking for support!"

The woman frowned, her gaze torn from Ulrich. "And I have none to spare him." She snapped, but her eyes fell back on Ulrich. "You. Can you lend aid to the Garrison?"

The majority of Ulrich, trained to avoid notice, quailed from the idea. Who, him? She had to be joking, he was alone, just one man. What difference could he make, especially if Thackeray himself was hard pressed? But somehow, it seemed like she believed he could. "Captain Thackeray has never failed us before." He breathed slowly. And the idea that he could fail them now, because no one would help him, was a terrible idea. "I will go." What good he would be, he wasn't sure, but he'd at least answer the call. "Which way?"

"The road east will take you there. Hurry."


	3. Chapter 3

East. Ulrich looked in that direction, and there was indeed a road running in that direction, following a river, which just happened to be the same way that the centaurs had come from. Not exactly the wisest way to go, but if he meant to make this work, it was probably the only right way to go. He nodded, moving quickly down the path. The faster he went, the less time he'd have to talk himself out of this and the sooner he'd be there to help as much as he could.

There was a black lump in the middle of the way, and Ulrich warily slowed his approach, waving his bone minions into reality. They popped out of the ground, staring at him out of sightless eye sockets, and he frowned. They sensed nothing threatening to him, if they did, they'd be bounding down that road towards it. What was it?

He got close enough to realize it was another centaur, downed in the middle of the road. Ulrich could sense its willingness to bend to his will, and smiled slightly. It was already dead, no threat to him, and he fell back into his ground eating stride to move towards it. Yes, definitely dead, already drawing flies. Intrigued, he drew closer. Ulrich had been born with a questioning, prying mind…something that his gang had little use for. They'd taught him to keep his questions to himself, often with a sharp slap to silence him. He'd stopped asking them, but the questions always remained. It had only been recently that he had realized that they didn't know the answers and were embarrassed to admit it to him. And it was then he had realized the true heresy, he was smarter than the vast majority of the people who tried to get him to do things. Things he didn't want to do. He'd remained quiet, his body was much smaller than his mind, but he grew weary of it now.

It was just a corpse. An intriguing corpse, but he lacked the time and resources to answer most of his questions regarding it and he really just needed to hurry along. It only had one thing he would take away, a weapon dropped in the grass and forgotten by its assailants. But then, the Seraph were well armed, and they'd been in a hurry, why take this when they had no immediate use for it? But Ulrich had a use for the discarded weapon and grabbed it from the roadside. It had probably been a single handed scepter for the centaur, but it was almost as long as Ulrich was tall, with a dully glowing blue crystal wrapped in its head. The crystal brightened when he picked the staff up, and it felt right and whole in his hands. Good, he wouldn't look nearly so useless when he came into Shaemoor Garrison carrying this.

The Garrison appeared out of the dusty haze to his right, and he stared at it hungrily. Again, someplace new. Someplace he had never seen before, and didn't know. It was a heavily fortified stone building, resting on an island in the rushing river, and was currently swarming with agitated Seraph combatants. He hopped into a jog, measuring it warily, still uncertain what they thought he could do here.

He was waved over to the sentry the moment he became clearly visible and the man regarded him curiously. "Shaemoor sent me." He stated, hoping it didn't sound too damned pretentious. "After the skirmish there."

"They turned the group that made it through back from the approach to Divinity's Reach?"

"Destroyed at Shaemoor. They made it no further." At least Ulrich hoped that the man was asking about the same group that had attacked Shaemoor. If he wasn't, then he'd just made an idiot out of himself.

"Grand news!" The young man's gaze flicked over Ulrich, pausing a heartbeat on the floating fiend behind him and the glowing scepter in his hands. "A necromancer will be useful, indeed! Captain Thackeray is on the south bridge…" A gauntled thumb gestured over the man's pauldroned shoulders and Ulrich nodded. It made more sense to stop the centaurs as far away from Divinity's Reach as possible, and the opposite side of the Garrison worked for him. He was waved through where the first gate had been, now nothing more than kindling, and rushed through the courtyard beyond. The second gate was less than the first, except for the twisted hinges still spiked to the stones; there was no hint that there had ever been one at all.

More Seraph, arrayed in a loose circle around a solitary form, and Ulrich tried to pause, tried to consider and measure this, but he was being pushed along towards that one. Another Seraph, in the usual armor, but he was bareheaded, handsome, tall, long brown hair falling to his shoulders. He caught sight of Ulrich being pushed towards him, and gave him the usual half glance up towards the fiend before locking his face with a long, steady gaze.

Ulrich had seen his man before, and those occasions had never been good. It was all he could do to keep going, and he was certain that Thackeray recognized him… the tightening around his eyes, the beginning glower… all giveaways. Then the captain tore his beginning glare away, and stared at the fiend. "You. Ulrich." He stated, and Ulrich's stomach plunged. It was worse than being glancingly recognized…what had he done to have this one know his name this easily? "Nothing I have on you mentions that." He waved at the fiend.

Have on you. So the wildest stories were true, Thackeray was doing deep research into the gangs. It was a good time to get out, if he'd garnered this sort of attention.

"Pete doesn't know. I'll never get away from him if he found out." One of Ulrich's shortcomings had always been his often devastating honesty, but he couldn't see a better lie in this. And it was worth losing the secret to see surprise cross Thackeray's expression, the captain's brows rising in thought.

"You want away from Pete?" Again, the deep contemplation, measuring, considering, thinking. If Ulrich had ever gotten the slightest hint of this sort of pondering from Pete, he'd be more content to follow the man, but no. He had to get it from the Captain of the Queen's Guard. "You want to go straight?"

"Yes."

"Hmmph." There was the grudging hint of a smile on Thackeray's face. "Well, you've picked the perfect place to start, stay behind the line. The centaurs are definitely on the move today."

Stay behind the line. It sounded like a perfect plan to Ulrich; at least Thackeray wasn't going to ask for blinding heroism from him, because he was certain he couldn't produce it.

When they came, they came hard and fast, a seething torrent of dark brown bodies. And again, Ulrich focused on their archers, letting the Seraph close with the melee heavy warriors. He was perfectly happy to stay at a distance, behind the lines, exactly as Thackeray had ordered. The din of combat faded beyond his perceptions, held at bay by a sudden growing sharp focus. Just distractions, all just small distractions, and he was beyond that. This was what he had been born for. It all just fell into place with an almost audible click.

"Sage!" Someone shouted, and Ulrich tore his attention away from the line of archers, searching for the new target. There. A single centaur, watching the chaos from a slight rise. It was ornamented with vaguely arcane looking geegaws that Ulrich had no clue of, but he completely grasped the rising tide of destruction that was bringing to the field. He could sense the rising power it was channeling, wild and untouchable to him, but still very much there. It had to be stopped before whatever that was it was casting was completed.

He wasn't quite aware of how he'd crossed the bridge, the only thing that really seemed to matter was to get close enough to that to start to harry it, to distract it. Thackeray seemed to have the same idea, and Ulrich tucked himself into the bloody swath that the much larger Seraph captain was cutting through the centaur.

"Go!" Ulrich snarled, and the ground foamed up minions who were running in that direction before they were completely disgorged from the soil. They split around Thackeray, moving with an animalistic speed much faster than the heavily armored Seraph.

And, didn't make it there. The centaur waited temptingly just out of reach, but the moment Ulrich hit his casting apron, and the minions were just three hops away, a few strides ahead of the charging Thackeray, it pirouetted in a graceful spin and galloped away.

Ulrich broke stride, confused, and Thackeray halted as well, the minions swarming around his ankles. "Too late." Thackeray growled, and Ulrich sensed he was correct, but couldn't see what they had failed to stop.

He felt the dim rumble of stone on stone and the hill before him began to dismantle itself, tossing great boulders into the air. And they stayed there, spinning in a vortex of suddenly visible dust, debris, and carts.

"What is that?" Ulrich was happy it wasn't his voice giving voice to that level of awe and trepidation.

"That, soldier, is a problem!" Well, Ulrich would have to hand it to Thackeray…the man knew how to call a spade a spade, although 'problem' was probably a much milder term than he would have personally used to describe what he saw growing before him.

"Keep the pressure up!" Thackeray bellowed, moving towards the upheaval. Take that on? That seemed to be the plan, and Ulrich followed the captain until he reached a point he could start casting again. "Rally to me!"

As if Ulrich had ever left him. He'd spent his entire life hiding behind larger men, and didn't see a reason to stop now. And he'd do everything in his power to keep that larger man up and going, because it was useless to hide behind a corpse. He was in so deeply at that point that there was nowhere to run to; the Garrison was not an option. His only choice was to stand. To fight. To support Thackeray fighting ahead of him. He called upon the very ground that the man before him stood on, the death contained within every inch of dirt, to aid that. Thackeray was an ally, he'd be immune, but the centaurs would know they stepped on death's ground to get to him.

There was a moment when it all changed. The winds that had buffeted Ulrich were a tornado, spinning, and suddenly he was hit in the face with a full blast of air coarse with sand and debris. "It's going to blow!"

Again, that damned Seraph yelling the obvious. Ulrich turned, only vaguely aware his motion was a mirror of Thackeray's sudden decision to bolt, and the world stopped, his breath crushed in his throat. He had been upright, and then he was stunningly planted into the dirt. He tasted blood, a gagging amount of it, his own, but was shocked him was the utter silence, except for the terrible pounding of his own heart.

Hurt. He was…hurt. Badly. And that was new. Ulrich had never truly been hurt a day in his life. He'd done the usual trip, fall, paring knife sorts of mishaps, taken more than his fair share of open handed slaps from the gang, but injured, never. Even when he'd gotten in fights in the gang, he'd hidden behind Quinn's ominous build…

The horrible brightness above him was eclipsed by a blessed shadow. Blessed, at least until he recognized Thackeray as the source of it. The man's expression was intent, focused. "Ulrich."

Somehow, Ulrich thought this would be so much worse than it was. He grasped, on some level, that it was bad. Dying was a word he couldn't even comprehend, especially to be stupid enough to die on the first day he'd finally done something about changing his life, but it was so stunningly, disjointedly, peaceful.

"Captain…Thackeray." He managed, and gained himself a disapproving frown in reply.

"Logan. Look, I'm going to pick you up and it's going to hurt like hell. But I can't leave you here."

Yes, that was definitely Ulrich's luck. First name basis with the Queen's Champion mere moments before he died. Life was not fair… And Thackeray was quite correct, it hurt like hell for the split second he remained conscious during it.


	4. Chapter 4

Ulrich was dreaming. It was the same dream he usually had when he managed to sleep deeply, lying on his stomach on a braided rug in the middle of a sunbeam splashed floor. The dog was there, resting just out of his reach, but the white tip of its black tail trailed teasingly within his grasp. At least until he gave in and reached, and then the dog flipped it away, watching him out of wise and indulgent amber eyes. He pulled his hand back, there was a pause, and the dog flipped it back into reach. Again, he reached, and again, the dog flipped it away just out of reach.

There was a chuckle, close by, and he looked up at the woman standing over him. "Silly Ulrich." She breathed, bending over and picking him up, easily balancing his weight on her hip…

There was sudden pain and a crashing flow away. No, he wanted to stay. It was warm, safe, right here. This was what he wanted, not to go back…

"Ulrich." The voice was almost unfamiliar, calm and reassuring. "Is he coming around?" Same voice, but Ulrich sensed the question was directed towards another.

"Seems to be." That one was completely unfamiliar, female and gentle, on the opposite side of him. "He's going to be fine, Logan. Really."

Logan. Thackeray. If possible, that made Ulrich want to float back into dreamland all the more. This had been a giant mistake, he understood it now. He was no hero. The sanest thing would be to just go home, but he couldn't face that. All too soon, he'd be asked to do something he knew was completely wrong, and he couldn't do it. "I'm awake, Captain Thackeray." Best to just get it started. Then he could get it ended.

"Loooogan." The man enunciated it like he was introducing himself to a small child. "Captain Thackeray reminds me of my brother. My name is Logan. Use it, please."

"Logan." That felt desperately wrong, but it was obvious the man was going to be stubborn about it. "Where am I?" He had opened his eyes, but still didn't have an answer for that. He was in a bed, in a small room. Logan Thackeray perched next to him on a stool, and there was an unfamiliar blonde woman in a blue dress on his other side.

"Inn in Shaemoor. We moved the wounded here and the criticals to Vanguard Hospital."

Criticals. All of that, and he wasn't even considered critical. It was almost sad. He had certainly felt critical… "All but one." The blonde groused, and Logan stared back at her silently. "He was critical, Logan. I still don't see why you insisted he stay here."

"I don't want him in Divinity's Reach until I've had the time to talk to him. Sending him to our hospital would have given it all away."

That did not sound good. Ulrich was not good at secrets, and usually was the one to 'give it all away', but Logan was developing a reputation for being equally as underhanded and devious as his prey thought they were. "Ulrich, you said you wanted to leave your gang. Pete. Go straight."

Ulrich closed his eyes. He knew where this was going, it all fell into place, but was he really willing to do this? There was only reason why Logan Thackeray would not want him in a hospital in Divinity's Reach. "You want me to rat."

The blonde hissed, and Ulrich sensed the angry stare she was sending Logan over him, but Thackeray remained stubbornly silent under the assault. "Yes." He finally admitted. "I want you to rat out Pete. He's becoming more and more dangerous, and you know it. That's why you're out here. There are two gangs playing one-upmanship with each other in Salma, and they're getting more and people hurt doing it. I need your help. Pete's up to something, big, but I can't find out what. But you can."

"And if I don't?"

Logan's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed, but his voice was regretful. "I will see that you are paid, and that word of your stand at the Garrison is correctly placed in my report to the Queen."

"And if I do?"

"Divinity's Reach needs all the up and coming champions she can get her hands upon. My office could use a good necromancer. Serve the Seraph, the Queen. Kryta. You can't get any straighter than that, and that's my offer."

If it didn't feel like it would hurt a whole hell of a lot, Ulrich would laugh. Join the Seraph? That wasn't just ratting, that was full out treason. But Thackeray was right; the fight between his gang and Big Nose Ted's was escalating quickly. This was becoming more than extorting innkeepers for a meal and a drink, more than purse cutting. It was going to become murder on a wide scale.

"What do you want?" Logan demanded, and Ulrich paused. There was a question he couldn't ever remember anyone really asking him before. What did he want? Life was full of what he didn't want, but he'd spent precious little time figuring out exactly what he did want.

"I want…" How to put feelings into words? "A home." He was tired of living in storerooms. In the cellars of inns, without being invited. Of sleeping in corners. "That's mine. With a bed. And a shelf for books. And a kitchen. And a dog." He was babbling, what in the hell had they given him to kill the pain? "I want to be clean. I don't want people to look at me like I'm a problem. I don't want to be a problem anymore. I don't want to eat because I threatened an innkeep. Things are so bad, that people like you shouldn't be worried about what I'm doing behind their backs."

"Then help me."

And if he didn't, more were going to pay the price. Ulrich understood this. But if he did this, there would be no going back. Ever. But wasn't that what he wanted? To never, ever go back? To never even have the opportunity, or the thought? If he worked for the Seraph, then he would have accomplished that. And what had the gang ever really given him? They had systematically denied him everything that he had really wanted, they deserved little from him.

"I'll do it." He stated, and he could feel Logan release the breath he'd been holding, relieved.

"Good. Good. You're not fit to walk back to Divinity's Reach. There will be a cart here in the morning, I've arranged for you to ride it back. I am in your debt, Ulrich."

"Tomorrow? Logan, you're insane. He needs a week…" The woman, Ulrich guessed she was the priestess who had brought him through this, sputtered in horror.

"No." Ulrich muttered, "I can't stay away that long. Too many questions." He could explain away being gone a couple of days, he did it often enough, but a week? He could also explain away any obvious pain, and make it work in Logan's favor.

"Right." There was obvious regret in Thackeray's voice, but it remained steady. "If he can't make it, we'll pull him out, but right now…"

"I got it." Ulrich chuckled, and he was right, it hurt like hell.

And, if possible, it was worse in the morning. It was the first time Ulrich had the chance to actually take a long look at himself, and the sight was impressive in all the wrong ways. He'd seen bruises before, but never scarlet ones, still viciously the color of his own blood. The main one high on his abdomen had darkened to a raven sheen on the outer edges, and was stiffened and hard when he rested his fingertips on it. "Damn." He muttered under his breath.

"There will be a scar." The woman said from behind him, and he nodded. That was pretty obvious, the bruising hid the worst of the gash, but that would fade. "But you'll be fine if you be careful."

"Thanks." He had guessed she was a priestess, one of Dwayna's, but she had never bothered to give him her name. And she still wasn't going to, a fact she proved by stalking off, still exuding annoyance. His clothes, his new clothes, were a disaster, still piled in a tattered, bloodied heap on the floor. He sighed in disgust, sitting on the bed and regarding them solemnly. All that work, all the doing without to afford them, and they'd lasted a day. "Damn." He repeated, but was startled out of a growing sadness by a knock on his door. "Come in." He growled, and a young Seraph poked his head in.

"You're awake."

Were they all in such command of the obvious? "Can I help you?" He sighed, shaking his head, and the young man grinned.

"Captain Thackeray told me to give this to you…said he'd give it you himself, but he's gone already." He offered up a bundle, and Ulrich stood stiffly to accept it. "Oh, and he said he has your weapon with him, says he'll watch it until you're done. Good luck, sir."

Ulrich's hands shook, and it had nothing to do with the stiff pain. Sir. He'd never been called anything near that in his life. "Thank you." He breathed, and the young man nodded and disappeared back into the hallway. Ulrich sat back, staring at the bundle of fabric uncertainly, before he untied the sloppy knot of twine that held it all together. Clothes. Easily as fine as the set he had destroyed yesterday, clean, whole. And a small purse that clinked when it fell to the floor. Suddenly his day was so much brighter, and he carefully maneuvered into the clothing and inched his way down the stairs to meet the cart and make his way back to Divinity's Reach.

It seemed like such a let down to step off of the cart, exactly where he'd started out from yesterday morning. It felt as if he had gotten nowhere, and all he had to show for yesterday was a truly mind blowing bruise.

"By the six gods, Ulrich! There you are!"

He was impressed, he'd been back for less than fifteen minutes, and he'd been found already. Of course, he was headed slowly back for his home neighborhood, but it surely looked to him like Quinn had been looking for him. "Here I am." He agreed with a rueful smile, putting up a quick, wary hand when Quinn barreled towards him. The boy was big as an ox and could be effusive with his affections, and the last thing Ulrich really needed was a big Quinn sized squeeze.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Truth bubbled up in Ulrich but he viciously tamped it down. It was definitely a morning for some solid lies. "Had a run in with some of Ted's goons last night. Been lying low since."

Quinn's expression flickered, and Ulrich studied him. He was worried, jumpy, and a little put off by the idea that Ulrich might not be in fair form. What had he gotten himself into now? "Damn. Look, I'm sorry, but I need your help."

Seemed to be the phrase everybody wanted to use on him lately. "What have you done now?" He asked, craning to look up at Quinn. He wasn't the sharpest sword in the armory, but he'd made up for that by a willingness to do as he was told and an ever increasing size. Ulrich had none of those selling points, which was why Quinn was doing so much better in the gang than he was.

"Pete's mad at me."

Uh oh. Definitely the last thing that Ulrich wanted to hear. He needed at least a couple more days doing as little as possible before he got involved in any of Quinn's stupidities, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.

"What did you do now?" Hopefully, it was something he could think his way out of. Talk his way out of. He was in poor shape, and it was getting harder and harder to hold back the manifestations of his calling when he felt threatened.

Quinn gave him a hang dog look, but Ulrich was in no mood to be reeled in by that today. "Quinn…"

A half smile, and really, Ulrich felt his patience fray. Quinn had been his friend since they had both been small children, but there were times he wore on his last nerve, and today was one of them. "It's what I didn't do." He finally admitted, "I was in the inn, watching the innkeep's daughter, and it just slipped my mind, honest."

And this was happening more and more often. It had been one thing for Quinn to forget things when they were children. Now, it was dire. People paid for it, and since Ulrich's name was linked with Quinn's, he was guilty by association. Pete tended to view him as Quinn's leash holder, and that was no job he really wanted. He just needed out of here, out of this. "Petra would chew your face off." He sighed, squeezing his temples. That would be worth watching, but that wasn't the point. Quinn had discovered girls somewhere along the way, and it just compounded all of his problems. Certainly, Ulrich had discovered them as well, but they had the amazing ability to completely bog Quinn's often beleaguered intellect down to nonexistence.

"I forgot I was supposed to go help with a job."

Ulrich stared up at him through narrowed eyes. The safest, best thing in the whole world would be for this one to find a nice farm job somewhere. He was just too damned stupid to be a gang member. "Who'd you leave hanging out in the wind?"

"Riot Alice. She's been taken."

Well, that tore that. Alice was smarter than the majority of them. If given enough time, she'd figure it out, and leave. And there was no way in hell Ulrich was going to leave her in whatever hell she had coming because Quinn was too besotted to remember his own name. "I'll go get the gun." He sighed in defeat. It was hardly his best option, but with Quinn, it really was his only option. If Quinn knew, it'd be less than an hour before Pete did. Ulrich was a fine shot, but using a gun was just so wrong, a rejection of everything that he inherently was. It had made too much sense to teach him, he'd been a quick learner, but that skill was as empty as the rest of his life was here.

Quinn beamed. "Thanks. You're a good friend, Ulrich."

I wish I was. I wish you were.


	5. Chapter 5

Ulrich followed in Quinn's wake, growing more and more concerned. At this time of day, this area should be alive with people…street hawkers, children, passersby…and it was dead. Empty. What did they know that he didn't?

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"It's quiet, and I don't like it."

"You don't like anything." Quinn rumbled, edging to look around a corner. "Everything's something to make you nervous. You spend so much time thinking that you're bound to come up with a reason to not do something. Take half the time, and you'd get it done. Like your name. Like what you want to do in the gang…"

My name is Ulrich. And I don't want to do anything in the gang. He would die before he gave up one of the few things that was actually his, his name, for some truly stupid gang moniker. "Like what, Short Stuff Rick?"

Well, he could always get Quinn to laugh, no matter how worried he was. Ulrich's lack of height and heft was a running joke between the pair of them, especially after Quinn had started to grow at a startling pace.

"Ul…the Ankle Biter."

"Knees. I bite knees." If he craned and looked around Quinn's waist, he could see the door that held Quinn's attention. "Widowmakers?" If he remembered correctly, this was their hidey-hole. Not really in his turf, and lately his turf had been less and less centered around his own home neighborhood. They knew him too well around here for his own comfort.

"Yeah."

Well, that was a good thing. A small bunch, a little disorganized and flighty. Undisciplined. Just what they needed. It was quite possible that the two of them, alone, could get Alice out, without having to lean on Pete for any aid. And once they got a gun in her hands, it'd all be over but the dripping. "Door's undoubtedly locked." He mused, ignoring Quinn's bristle. The hope had been that the bright, small, graceful Ulrich would be a consummate thief. It would have made all of his…shortcomings… turn into assets. But it was just another thing he was good at, except that his heart was not in it. And 'good at' was not going to get him through those doors. That required more like 'called to be', and he was certain he wasn't called to be that sort of thief. When he looked into his own soul like that, all that stared back was a necromancer. Giving into that was a disaster, if he'd had the Seraph looking into him before that became obvious, what would they do afterwards?

Quinn had been staring fixated at the door, while Ulrich pondered behind him, trying to figure out how to get into it. Suddenly Quinn stepped into motion, leaving Ulrich hissing in disbelief behind him. Certainly he really didn't think he could just walk up and get them to let him in, did he?

Apparently so, because he headed straight for the door. Ulrich sighed, and started to watch the windows and roof of the house with a heightened sense of caution. Damn fool was going to get himself shot…

Or not. He had a brief discussion with the still closed door and returned to Ulrich's position. "Need the password." He stated, and Ulrich snorted in spite of himself. Password? Truly they weren't still using that baby tactic, were they? Was it too hard to look out and see Quinn, and either recognize him…as Quinn, a member of Two-Blade Pete's gang, and therefore trouble, or realize that they didn't recognize him and ask just who the hell he was? This game just got harder and harder to swallow the older he got…

"It's fine, Ulrich, I know where we can find a couple of these guys and get that password out of them. All you need to do is cover me." Quinn squared his shoulders and headed deeper into the underbelly, Ulrich following him. He was really not in the mood for this, at all. Best just to get it over with…

"There." Quinn whispered, pointing at a bridge. From his vantage point, Ulrich could vaguely see a form in the depths below it, but his senses told him there were two men under it. "They're supposed to be watching the door, but it's too hot. I knew I'd find them down here."

Undisciplined and stupid, Ulrich's favorite things to deal with as long as they weren't on his side. Of course, that all too adequately described the situation that had gotten him into this…Quinn, undisciplined and stupid, and on Alice's side. And on Ulrich's, for now. But he'd seen better, disciplined and thoughtful. He just needed to make it through this to see more of that.

"Quinn?" And again, the boy took the frontal assault approach, striding straight for the bridge. The pair must have been half asleep, in the dark, cool space, because that was the only way that Quinn could have gotten as close as he did before the nearest one of them sounded the alarm. Ulrich sighed, pulling the gun up and doing his best to be intimidating, making certain he didn't get close enough to be grabbed himself. If he was even touched wrong, he'd be down. Thankfully, Quinn was in rare, fine form, snatching up the closest one and barreling him into the footings of the bridge. Ulrich just shook his head at the man's companion when it looked like was considering throwing in, and motioned him back with a steady wave of the barrel of the gun. Watching Quinn tear into someone could be almost amusing, and definitely satisfying.

"All right." Quinn snarled, "We want the password to your hideout, and we want it now."

The one that Ulrich was holding off remained stubbornly silent, but he hadn't just had Quinn bounce him into masonry a few times. That one seemed to have a little more incentive to cooperate.

"If I tell you, you'll let me go?" His eyes left Quinn's face, settling on Ulrich's hopefully. It sounded like a fair enough plan, and whatever got this over with quickly worked for Ulrich.

"Yeah." Ulrich agreed, ignoring Quinn's dubious look. "We'll let you go, as long as you don't warn them." He doubted if they would anyway, they'd already made a big mess of things as it was. Staying around to watch it fall apart just had that much more of a chance that they'd be rightfully blamed for it.

"I won't. They didn't protect me. I don't owe them anything. The password is Salma's bloomers."

Catchy, if a little childish. Ulrich sighed, motioning to Quinn to release him. The young man did so, slowly, and kept staring at them after they broke and ran. "Let them go?" He questioned, "Ulrich…"

"Not today, Quinn. We get Alice, and call it a day."

"You're the smart one." Quinn sighed in defeat, "Let's go get her so you can take a nap. You don't look so good."

Ulrich would have never guessed that.


	6. Chapter 6

Back to the same doorway. Still unguarded. Try as he might, and he certainly did, Ulrich saw no one on the high ground spotting the door. What seemed to him to be the most basic care and logic was, once again, overlooked.

Quinn walked boldly up to the door, knocked, and still…Ulrich sensed no attention from the upper windows…and a bored voice asked "Password?"

"Salma's bloomers."

No. Really, it wasn't going to be… The door swung open and Quinn barreled into it before the man beyond realized who he was. Committed, Ulrich charged the door after him, letting his mind shift from the pensive, thoughtful, measuring Ulrich, to the Ulrich who ran the show when blood started to fly.

Thankfully, Quinn was a bull, making a beeline right through the rundown house, and all Ulrich needed to do was cover his back with a few well placed shots. The stairs were hell, much as Ulrich tried to put the pain beyond him, it haunted his progress up the steps. As usual, Quinn gave little thought to the tactics of having a gun at his back, moving straight into the room and eclipsing every firing arc possible. But Ulrich had been through this a hundred times before, Quinn would never learn, so he had to. He went prone on the landing just outside of the room that the Widowmakers were holding Alice in, and shot around Quinn's legs.

At least it was short; Ulrich was leveling for his third shot when Alice threw into the fight, relieving the first corpse of its gun. Her angle was much better than his to add to the growing carnage around Quinn, so he turned to cover the stairs behind him. Only one of the Widowmakers was foolish enough to try the stairs, Ulrich dropped him with an easy shot almost straight down. Quinn would take his time, savor the brawl, but Alice would want out as soon as possible. He was correct; she moved around Quinn quickly, gave Ulrich a flicker of a smile and waved him to cover her retreat down the stairs. "Come on, Quinn, we're out of here…"

"But…" Ulrich knew the argument. Search the room, search the bodies, come up with lunch money, or hopefully better. But they were running out of time.

"No buts. Follow Alice!"

Quinn grumbled, hanging his head, but did as he was told while Ulrich covered their retreat into Salma's twisting, narrow cobbled streets. It was hotter, if possible, the sun rising high enough to bathe those streets in glaring sunlight. Ulrich felt lightheaded, dizzy, and more than a little nauseous. All he wanted to do was find a nice quiet, cool cot to rest on. But he'd do his best to keep a good front up before Alice. He glanced at her; thankfully she looked better than he did, proudly outraged. He'd always liked her, and not only because she was damned pretty, but she was damned smart as well.

"Thanks for the rescue." She breathed when they were back on their own turf and somewhat safe again. "I was really starting to hate those guys." Her eyes skipped over Ulrich, and he knew that he failed her inspection by the narrowing of her eyes and the tightening at the corner of her lips. "As for you, Quinn…" She glared at him, and Ulrich was simply happy that stare wasn't aimed at him, "This almost makes up for you getting me caught in the first place. Almost."

Quinn flushed, and Ulrich almost felt sorry for him. He was well aware he wasn't the only one who thought Alice was a fine example of a woman, and Quinn wasn't quite astute enough to realize he really didn't have a chance in hell of turning her gaze. If anything, Ulrich sensed that he had more of a chance to. She'd never given him that charmingly loud 'oh, you imbecile!' look she was currently giving Quinn. "Hey," He tried bravado, "I always clean up my own messes. You were never in any danger."

By her answering stare, the attempt fell flat, and Ulrich sighed. Where was that cot again? That quiet, cool corner? "Right, Quinn. Whatever you say." Alice was no fool, she knew exactly how much danger she'd been in, and belittling it was just going to harm Quinn's standing in her eyes. "Come on, we need to get Alice back to Two-Blade Pete."

Again, she gave him a measuring look, but gave him the respect to remain silent about what he knew was circling her mind. "I'm right behind you. Anywhere's better than there."

Two-Blade Pete was waiting for them in the store basement he claimed as a base of operations, and Ulrich schooled his features into neutral passivity. Every day that passed fed his dislike of the man; it now edged perilously close to hatred. What had once seemed like generosity, a godsend, taking Ulrich and Quinn off the streets, feeding them, clothing them, now was revealed to the maturing Ulrich as the plot it was… how to tie them to his gang, with no escape. It wasn't as if Pete was stirring his bulk to go out there and get caught, either… the moment Thackeray had started his concerted crackdown on the gangs, Pete had gone into hiding. Others were going to be caught. Others were going to be executed, all keeping Pete in the manner he'd become accustomed to. Pete had never missed a meal in the eight years that Ulrich had been attached to the gang. None of the others could claim that. But the man seemed honestly glad to see them…no…his eyes dismissed Quinn, slid over Ulrich as if he wasn't even truly there, but lingered on Alice. He was pleased to see her. Why?

"Lucky for you, Quinn, you made it. Good thing Alice isn't hurt."

Indeed. Good thing Alice wasn't hurt. He hadn't included Quinn in that, and Ulrich wasn't even certain the man had realized that he was injured.

"No thanks to you, Pete." Alice retorted, "Were you gonna leave me with those goons? I thought you needed me for the apothecary job."

Pete's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Ulrich tightened down on his passively inexpressive expression. She'd spoken out of turn; he, Quinn, or both, were not supposed to hear about that. "Shut up about that. Now, as to you, Quinn. You're off the hook for Alice, but as part of the gang, I've still got work for you."

Quinn nodded acceptingly, and Ulrich's heart sank. Was he the only one who saw how this was going? Where this was going to end at? They'd all swing, the Seraph was making that more and more clear, but their response was to step it up? Incite Thackeray's indignant wrath to higher levels? That one couldn't be bought, he wouldn't become complacent, and he was hardly the type to be scared away. He was just going to keep coming…

"What happened to you?" Pete demanded, his gaze falling straight on Ulrich. "You look like hell."

"Got in a scuff with some of Ted's boys." It was a likely excuse, there'd been more and more blows from that quarter lately. And Ulrich was an equally likely target, small, existing on the fringe of Pete's gang, part but not parcel. "They won."

Pete merely nodded, but Ulrich could feel Quinn's guilt and Alice's anger from behind him. "Go get it seen to." Pete ordered, flicking the trio away with a swift motion.

"Come on." Alice sighed when they had left the room, "Let me see what those goons did to you, Ulrich."

Ah, what? No. He could do without her, and very much Quinn, seeing the evidence of just how much trouble he was capable of getting himself into. "I'm fine, Alice. Really."

Again, that narrow eyed look she was getting so good at. "Then you won't mind me taking a look."

"Ah, Alice, he's just embarrassed. He doesn't want you to see how damned scrawny he is…"

Ulrich was impressed, that was an amazingly well thought out argument for Quinn, a fine attempt to sidetrack Alice. Except that Quinn wasn't being facetious, and Alice wasn't buying it. "Come on, short stuff. Let Auntie Alice take care of you." She grabbed his sleeve, and Ulrich sighed in defeat, ignoring Quinn's suddenly envious look. The look deepened when it became obvious where Alice was headed, and Ulrich set his heels.

"Not going in there." He muttered, feeling the sudden flush rise from his neck. "Alice…no."

"You just hush." She growled, dragging him into her bedroom behind the store. Quinn followed quickly, before she could close the door on his face, gawking around like a child taken to the faire. "Take off the shirt."

"No." He was doing his best to not look around. This was her private space, he shouldn't be there.

"So are you lying to Pete about being hurt? Because he's right, you look like hell warmed over."

"No, I'm not lying. I know what I look like. I just want to lie down for a bit, somewhere…" Other than here.

"Then take off the shirt, or I'll tell Quinn I'll give him a kiss if he does it for you."

Ulrich stared at her, betrayed, trying to ignore Quinn desperately holding back laughter behind him. She'd do it. He'd do it. And that would hurt like hell. "Fine." He growled, shrugging out of his shirt.

"By the six gods, Ulrich, what the hell?" Quinn hissed, moving out the shadows. "You didn't say they'd really tried to kill you. You should have said something before we went after Alice…"

Ulrich glanced down, hoping against hope that it had settled down somewhat. Of course it hadn't, his abdomen was still a glory of terrifying colors, and was painfully stiff when Alice knelt and rested fingertips on it. "For once, I agree with Quinn." She murmured, pressing gently on the worst part. Ulrich yelped in spite of himself, and she frowned up at him. "What did they hit you with?"

A cart? A boulder? Ulrich hadn't quite gotten a good look at what had struck him. "Not sure." He admitted truthfully, "Alice, what's this job Pete wants you to do?"

"Not your concern, short stuff." She stood, staring down at him. "That damned near killed you, Ulrich."

"I know." He didn't need her to remind him of that fact. "Quinn, we need to talk. This isn't the first time you've needed rescuing. When are you going to realize you need out of this?" That went for Alice as well, but she was smart enough to listen without him having to talk right at her. "Things are getting ugly, you need to leave Pete."

"Ulrich." Quinn sighed, and there was almost a mourning edge to his voice. "You are my best friend. Hell, you're my only friend, really." He was still staring at Ulrich's chest, a simmer of rage building in his eyes. "Just don't stir things up. Pete can make things really difficult around here for me. As long as I'm on the streets, I need to cooperate with him."

"Don't be an idiot. Pete's not your friend. He thinks everyone's expendable, especially you. You're just going to get into trouble again." Why couldn't Quinn see this? And if he was so bound and determined to go this route, why wasn't he more careful? Telling him to be wary of Thackeray was so far beyond him, when he couldn't even figure out to toe the line with Pete. Everything was a game. Nothing was concrete or serious…until he got someone, possibly himself, killed.

"Sure, sure. I know that. C'mon, trust me. I just have to stay one step ahead of him." Ulrich almost laughed. Quinn couldn't stay one step ahead of a lamed man. Something, some pretty something, was going to attract his attention, and this would happen all over again.

"All right." He sighed, knowing he was fighting a war he couldn't win, "It's your life. Be careful, Quinn. I'm not always going to be around to lend a hand." That was a definite, and Alice gave him a long, measuring gaze when he said it.

Quinn, although he was the target of the hint, seemed blissfully oblivious to the meaning. "Yeah, look, Ulrich. You take it easy; I need to go do some things for Pete. I'll be back, and then we'll go give some payback. If Ted's guys think they can hurt you, they've got another thing coming."

Alice watched him go, then turned back to Ulrich. "You're considering leaving?" She asked, reaching for a jar on the small table next to her bed. She motioned for him to sit on her bed, and he did so, gingerly. He put up a little more fuss when she pushed him back onto the threadbare sheet, but she got her way as usual. The ointment in the jar was nasty, it reeked of some extremely bitter herb and it was a terribly uncomfortable mixture of icy cold and burning hot when she slathered it on him.

"There's nothing here for me, Alice. And it's just getting worse. The gangs are getting more violent…or maybe I just get to see it more. The Seraph are stepping up in response to it. I'm small. I'm inept. I…don't want this."

"It is getting worse. It is getting more violent. You're right about that. And you're also right that the Seraph are responding in kind. And I see that you don't want this. That's as far as I'll give you, Ulrich. You're not particularly small, and you are sure as hell not inept. You're not committed, and you do poorly because of it. Your heart isn't in it. If it was, you'd be a force to be reckoned with. And whenever you find something that you can put your heart into, you'll be a force to be reckoned with. There. Best I can do."

"Thanks."

"You just keep your head down, and if Pete intends to send Quinn into this job, I'll keep an eye on him. You have my word."

"Thanks again." The sad thing was, right now, she'd do a better job of it than he could. Injured, and doing his best to hide his calling, Ulrich wasn't the most impressive thing around. "I'm going to find someplace to sleep."

"Good." She handed him the jar, wiping her hands off on a scrap of rag. "You do that. I'm going to go see what Pete wants, and keep that eye on Quinn for you."

She left, and he followed at a much slower pace. He'd left the store, moving aimlessly down the alley, when he realized he was being watched. He glanced up, and frowned. Trouble. The man leaning against the wall was one of those easily ominous sorts, tall; thin…he reeked of assassin or thief. Neither were appealing to Ulrich, but it was either turn around or pass by him. Turning around was a mistake, so he chose to keep walking.

"Ulrich?" The man asked, his voice perfectly trained to not carry. Definitely trouble, and trouble that could recognize him. "You're Ulrich. Message from Captain Thackeray." He passed a note to Ulrich and was gone just like the wind was on that very still day.

He opened the note, just a scrap, hardly a fancy missive with seals and ribbons to draw attention. And written in perfectly mundane lettering, "Will be at the Gilded Rose this afternoon. Want to talk to you." No signature. No greeting. Nothing to even hint who had sent it, or even who it was for. It was the most innocuous note he'd ever seen before.

He sighed, heading north, towards the Gilded Rose. That inn was outside of Salma, in an area not frequented by gangs. It wasn't quite the red flag that going to the inn just outside of the Seraph barracks would be, the Rose was a decent little inn, but not a place that Ulrich shouldn't be at…he could explain his presence away. Especially if he said he was looking for a room to go to ground in.

He entered the blessedly cool and quiet inn, and was waved immediately towards the stairs by a bored looking man studying his drink. No, he'd been waiting, watching the door, a river of caution in the way he sat. "Upstairs to the right."

Ulrich climbed the stairs slowly, and was acquired by yet another guard, this one a cautious woman. She eyed him up and down, nodded, and opened the door beside her. It led into a comfortable small dining room, with Logan Thackeray seated at a table set for two. Honest relief and pleasure crossed the man's face when he saw Ulrich, and he gestured to the empty seat across from him. "Ulrich. Good."

Ulrich cautiously sat, not bothering to bleed his curiosity away. Why was he here?

"How are you doing? I heard that you were involved in a fight this morning, not advisable in your condition. I swore that I'd keep an eye on you, only reason she let me have you back."

"Best friend got himself in a bit of trouble." Ulrich admitted, drinking in the cool air. "He'd rather I helped than going to the gang for backup. He messed up in a big way."

"Ah." It was an understanding ah, not an agreeing ah, and Ulrich shrugged.

"Between gangs. Didn't go anywhere else." Not that he really expected Thackeray to agree with that, but it was the only defense that Ulrich could come up with at the moment. The door opened, and Ulrich jumped, but Logan remained calm. Of course he did, the place was crawling with his people, and Ulrich could tell they weren't stupid enough to walk away from a door, get a password beaten out of them, and open a blind door to a strange voice giving them that password. The man who had been downstairs watching his drink do nothing stood in the doorway, carrying a tray. Ulrich's stomach growled and rumbled at the idea of food, and he fought the urge to lean forward to see what the man had. Surely Thackeray wasn't cruel enough to actually eat in front of him? That was more Pete's style, to remind him who was boss, put him squarely in his place. The man did serve Thackeray first, but Ulrich was heartened to see a second plate just as heavily laden as the one placed before Logan. Cold meats, thickly sliced bread, chilled fruits and cheeses, wonderful. He ate slowly, savoring each bite.

"Thanks for coming. I hope I was subtle enough to not draw attention to you, sneaking isn't really my style. I have people for that, and I hope they did well?"

"Very well." Frighteningly well. Everything about this was exactly how Ulrich would have arranged it himself.

"Good. I know you haven't been back long, but the moment I got back, I started to hear rumors going around about Pete. I was rather hoping you had something, anything, for me…"

Ulrich chased a bite down with a long swallow of cold ale, and shook his head. "Not much. There's talk about something to do with an apothecary. That mean anything to you?"

Logan leaned back in his chair and it screamed in complaint. It went without saying that the man towered over Ulrich, and had the heft to back it up, but he was still in full field plate. Ulrich wondered if he actually had clothes, or was he permanently bolted into Seraph armor?

"Apothecary? Hmmm. Pete's goons have been sniffing around Shaemoor. There's an apothecary there. That might be their next target."

"Probably. What'll happen to the gang when the Seraph catch them?" It was not an if. From what he'd seen, it was definitely a when. He had chosen the right time to get the hell out of this.

"If they surrender peacefully, they'll get long prison stretches. If they don't, I can't guarantee their safety." He sounded regretful, but firm. Unyielding, about what Ulrich was expecting.

"My friend Quinn is mixed up in this. Can you give me a chance to talk him out of it?" He had to try again; he just couldn't let Quinn go down like this. And Quinn would not 'surrender peacefully'; he wasn't that kind of young man.

Logan sent him a long, thoughtfully measuring stare. Ulrich was certain he didn't like it; somehow the man seemed to see more than most did when they gazed at him.

"It's asking a lot." Logan murmured, "But for the hero of Shaemoor, I'll try. Get Quinn out fast. My soldiers will move in as soon as they see trouble."

Hero of Shaemoor? Ulrich looked at him, puzzled, but the Seraph didn't seem to find his own words odd… he said them as if he considered them the solid truth. Thackeray called him a hero? By the gods, why?


	7. Chapter 7

The road to the apothecary's house was the same as he'd taken to go to the Garrison to back up Thackeray, and he tried pushing how that had ended out of his head. This was not a rampaging centaur invasion. It was a few of his own gang members. He could handle it. This was much more in his realm of experience than backing up Seraph during a mass movement of Tamini trying to break the lines. This, he understood.

The small house stood on the rise overlooking the river that the Garrison controlled, and Ulrich could see that the gang was already there…unless the apothecary normally employed masked look outs. The nearest one saw his approach and waved easily enough, recognizing him. For just a second, Ulrich felt remorse, until he heard a thin, piercing scream from the open doorway. No, this was bad. They deserved what they got…

Alice and a gang member that he did not recognize stood in the room immediately beyond the doorway. Alice stared at him, suspicious for a split second, until the other man's eyes fell on her. She went from an obvious 'what the hell are you doing here?' to 'oh, that's where you are!' in a half of a heartbeat. "Ulrich!" She greeted, not a false note in the syllables. The man with her seemed contented by that immediate recognition, and the relaxed stance of the lookouts.

"Let's get this stuff back to Pete." He stated, and Ulrich still didn't recognize him. "The others will take care of the rest." He hefted a bag from the table next to him, and nodded to Alice.

"Be careful with that stuff." She warned him. "It's dangerous."

Dangerous. Ulrich stared at the man, and the bag, trying to figure out some way to get him to let it go. He was coming up with a firm blank, at least with any plan that had a chance of succeeding and leaving him standing, when another man came down from upstairs in a hurry. His eyes first fell on Alice, and he started to speak, then noticed Ulrich. This one Ulrich knew… a real up and comer in Pete's eyes. Ulrich could hear a scuffle upstairs, and he sensed fear. Tension. Things were going badly?

"Your friend Quinn's upstairs. You better get up there before it gets too rough for him."

Once again, Ulrich found himself charging up a set of stairs, but without Quinn to cover him, and now he was unarmed.

"Help!" It was the same thin, reedy voice as the earlier scream. An elderly voice, probably female. "They're going to kill me!"

What had Quinn gotten himself into this time? He was an idiot, but not the sort to hurt the helpless…

"Seriously, guys." Quinn's voice, a thin string of desperation in it, trying to be calm and reasonable. Never a good thing, neither were a strong point with him. "We can still work this out. We don't have to hurt the old lady."

Uh oh. Ulrich reached the top of the stairs, and it was exactly as he feared. Quinn. What he guessed was the resident apothecary, and four men, one of them holding said resident apothecary, with a knife to her throat.

"Please don't kill me! I've given you everything you asked for." The woman pleaded, and Ulrich cringed. The odds were bad. As unarmed as he was, it was basically four to one against Quinn. He could hear Alice moving the other two out of the house, either she was unconcerned, or trying to keep them from throwing in as well…Ulrich wasn't certain.

"What are you doing?" Quinn demanded, "We don't need to hurt her."

"We do what Pete says, and Pete says she dies."

Ulrich backed into the corner, desperately thinking. He had to come up with something, anything, other than the only course of action his mind was coming up with. His bone minions would help even the fight, at least until he could get his hands on something to fight with. They'd be a surprise. It seemed to be his only option…

"Yeah? Well…well, I say no way!" It was obvious that Quinn didn't do righteous indignation well, but he was giving an honest try.

"Say whatever you want, but I'm not leaving her alive."

Quinn bellowed and charged, the minions scampering beyond him to attack the man with the knife. They had sharp teeth to savage with, and were heavier than they looked. The man dropped the knife and screamed as they tore through his trousers and started in on his flesh. His friends paused, caught between trying to grab the oozing, flayed beasts or meeting Quinn's charge. They both apparently decided that Quinn was the larger threat, and left the man to deal with the attacking minions alone. Ulrich slid behind them, eyes firmly planted on a pistol left discarded on the side table. Another gun…he'd much rather prefer a scepter. That had felt right, this would just be another wrong weapon in his hands, but Thackeray still had his. He grasped it, leveled it, and pulled the trigger. The shot was good, but it felt empty. The minions had managed to drag down their target, and Ulrich ignored the all too obvious noises from beyond that table. They weren't the most pleasant of manifestations, and he'd seen their work plenty of other times. Quinn had finished his two off and turned to Ulrich in obvious confusion.

"I had things under control, Ulrich, but I'm glad you showed up."

Blood splashed across the walls and Ulrich grimaced at the mess. He glanced at the apothecary, but she might have just been too blind to notice. Or she just didn't care. Both were equally possible. "As am I." Now he was certain she just didn't care. She was watching the corner, but she did so with a certain entranced fascination, not disgust. "I owe you my life. Thank you. But they took my entire supply of rhizome powder. It's a strong poison."

And Ulrich suddenly understood Thackeray's focus, his rush. There was no sane, viable reason for a gang to need something like that… "Poison?" He echoed. "Quinn, what's going on? The Seraph will be here any second. If we tell them what Pete's planning, they can stop it."

Quinn stared at Ulrich, obviously stunned. "You're working with the Seraph? When did you become a rat? Don't you know you can't trust the law?"

Can't trust the law. Can't trust Thackeray. But Ulrich did, almost implicitly, and he'd always gone on that gut feeling before. Why are we trying to tear down Kryta? Divinity's Reach? The world falls apart, and we attack her defenders…our defenders. It's not right. We're not right.

"I trust Thackeray more than Two-Blade." Ulrich proclaimed, secure in that sudden truth. "Come on. You wouldn't help stab one person, why would you help poison dozens? Be smart for once. Lay low until Thackeray makes his move and Pete's either dead or in prison." Surely Quinn had to be able to figure this one out. Just like Ulrich, he didn't have the heart to be this, to do this. Quinn needed a small house on a farm, a busty wife, a handful of children tripping him up, not this.

"But I…but I…I…uh, you're right." Quinn breathed, staring at the floor. "Listen." He caught Ulrich's eyes with his own steady brown ones, "Thanks for saving me. I'll do what you say, and hole up until all this blows over. And hey, thanks again."

He headed for the stairs, and then faded back, a stunned, caught look on his face. "Thackeray." He murmured, his complexion paling. Ulrich sighed, squeezing by him and descending the steps. Sure enough, Thackeray, and a woman that Ulrich could not place. She breathed nobility from every pore, and suddenly Ulrich wished he had not been so bold in coming down here… this was one of the rare circumstances in which Quinn had it right. Unfortunately both Thackeray and the stranger had seen his approach, and both turned towards him expectantly, leaving him no choice but to keep going.

"We heard the commotion, but it looks like you took care of it." Logan began, stepping to the side so that his bulk did not eclipse the woman's view of Ulrich. "Please allow me to introduce Countess Anise, Advisor to the Royal Court and Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade. What happened here?"

Yes, hiding on the landing behind Quinn definitely sounded like the better idea at that moment. He glanced deferentially at the woman, a little surprised when she smiled back. She was regal, dark red hair, pale skin, and the oddest pair of ears he'd ever seen in his life. She stood about a hand taller than he did, her thin body garbed in black and blue finery. He was relieved, if he found her more attractive than he did, it would difficult to treat her as she needed to be treated… Those were all real titles, heavy titles. The sort of titles that pulled Thackeray's leash back.

"The apothecary's safe, but Pete's gang got away with a lot of poisonous rhizome powder." Not exactly the news he wanted to bring, and both of them sent him almost identical stares. He sighed, he really did not want to end this day with the Captain of the Queen's guard, and Her personal advisor, both giving him that disturbed and distressed look. "I feel responsible; I couldn't stop them in time. Let me help you deal with it." If only he'd gone after the bag at the beginning, he could have stopped this. But no, he'd let himself get caught up with the idea of saving Quinn, again, and had let it slip through his fingers.

Some of the glower lightened from Logan's expression, and he nodded in relief. "Certainly. If you can find out when and where they plan to use the poison, we can shut Two-Blade Pete down for good."

Ulrich fought the sigh back, and kept his head straight against a sudden urge to shake it. He'd shown his true colors. "Pete's gang knows I was here. When none of his people return from this job, he'll be out for my blood." He had just run through his use to the Seraph, and to Thackeray. He was an idiot, a fool…

The countess smiled as if he'd said it aloud, "Don't worry." She soothed, "My magic can disguise you as a common bandit. You can walk among them and they'll never know it's you."

Ulrich wondered just what she thought he was, if she thought becoming a 'common bandit' was a change for him. But if he wasn't recognizable as the exact common bandit that he was, he was willing to give it a try. It wasn't like he had a whole lot of choices. Pete was after him and Quinn as well. And if he could no longer be the Seraph's rat, what use was he to them?

"We'll give you the location of their hideout." Now, that was sad. They had a hideout that Ulrich didn't know the existence of, much less its location, but Thackeray did. Pete was just doing a fantastic job here. "It's dangerous, but if you're willing, I know you can handle it."

Easy for the armor plated mountain to proclaim, but Ulrich had his doubts. But there really was only one choice for him. This had to end, or he'd spend the rest of his short life looking over his shoulder for the inevitable assassin. "Consider it done. I want to put Two-Blade Pete out of business even more than you do."

The countess smiled, an honest, decent smile. Ulrich couldn't remember the last time a woman had smiled at him like that, if ever. It certainly hadn't been since he'd become the almost adult that he was now. Even Alice didn't, there was always the edge of sharp distance that she kept them all at. Not that he blamed her, but he was tired of being treated like he was inherently untrustworthy. "Very well, then. I'll cast it on you now, but the disguise won't activate until you're close to the bandit headquarters."

"Here's a map of Queensdale." Logan unfolded a square of vellum from a pouch at his side and peered at intently for a moment. "When you're ready, head to this location." There was a small red circle penned on the shore of Lake Delavan, southeast of Divinity's Reach, and Ulrich nodded. He'd never been there, but he had been to the graveyard that overlooked those cliffs several times. "My scouts tell me Pete's men are hiding there. You'll be on your own, so be careful. Happy hunting."

Ulrich watched them go, feeling Quinn's stare boring into the back of his head. When they were well out of sight, Ulrich turned to him, "What?" He demanded, already knowing. He was in deep. Way too deep. He didn't need Quinn to tell him that.

Except…Quinn was smirking. Widely. "I'll tell you, short stuff. When you decide to rat, you do it in a big way. You have Captain Thackeray introducing the head of the Shining Blade to you. How'd you pull that one off?"

"Long story."

"You've been busy." He chuckled, "Good luck, I'm going to go find a hole to hide in…" Quinn rested a hand on Ulrich's shoulder, gave it a quick squeeze. "Be careful, Ulrich." He muttered before he moved off after Thackeray, leaving Ulrich alone, in a deepening twilight, outside of the apothecary's house. He could sense the old woman watching him, and he half turned to give her a lopsided smile.

"They left you." She noted, stepping onto the stoop. "Come on in. I owe you my life; the least I can give you is a meal and a nice cot for the night."

It was a good meal and a nice cot, and Ulrich slept better than he had for ages, waking up just after dawn. His scepter was propped up against the end of the cot, ready to go. He sat up, stiff, but a lot of the pain had faded. The bruise was edged with amber and green, and the black had paled. Overall, it looked as if he was going to survive…that, at least. The fool's errand that he had volunteered for with Thackeray's full support, possibly not.

He sighed, shaking his head. He'd lost his mind sometime in the past two weeks, he really had. When he'd gone looking for a change in his life, he'd been expecting something smaller than this. Working his way gradually up to the point where personages on Thackeray's level, on the Countess's level, might just have reason to notice his existence. The old woman was nowhere to be seen when he moved to the door, although he was fairly certain he'd heard her up and around before him. He let himself out, closing the door tightly behind him, took one last look at the map that Thackeray had given him, and headed out.


	8. Chapter 8

The road dropped down towards a calm lake, gilded by early morning sunshine. It would have been a fine view, if Ulrich had been in the mood to enjoy it. But he was too nervous, too downright scared to. He just wanted to get this over with, as soon as possible, either way. Then, if he survived, he'd drink in the simple joy of just being alive…and a pint of the best ale he could find in Divinity's Reach.

He turned left when the path ended in water, warily keeping an eye on its calm surface. He'd heard enough stories to know that all kinds of things lived in water, and while he could swim, he liked to see what was coming to bite him well ahead of time.

He'd walked only a little ways when he began to feel decidedly odd. He felt…larger, like he was surrounded by a bubble he could vaguely sense. He glanced in the water, and blinked. A stranger stared back at him, a tall, heavily built young man with a belligerent cast to his features. He had Ulrich's eyes, but Ulrich's eyes when his calling was too high to deny, shining with an otherworldly silver shimmer. Ulrich had been doing a fine job of hiding that, tamping it down, but this was brighter than he'd ever seen it before. His hair, usually an attention drawing red gold, was coal black, heavy and unkempt. He appeared to wear clothes he'd kill to actually own, a dashing and heavy blue coat, reinforced with leather and ornamented with large silver buttons, a fine white shirt, ivory and beige striped pants and a belt with a silver buckle as large as his palm. He looked exactly like he'd always dreamed he would, unfortunately it was a mesmer's illusion and not reality. But he certainly didn't look like "Short Stuff Ulrich" any more and she'd made him look imposing enough, impressive enough, to possibly get through this, and that was all that mattered. This was strictly temporary, just a mask.

He frowned and kept walking, finally coming to a cleft in the cliff side. It was watched by two guards, and Ulrich forced a slight swagger into his steps. While they were big to him, they wouldn't be big to what he appeared to be. He had to be exactly what the Countess had made him look like, a big swaggering braggart, hard and cold. It was just playacting, as he and Quinn had done when they were children.

He fought his urge to greet them, instead staring warily and threateningly, the scepter loose in his hand. What he didn't expect was the immediate grins on their faces, and he let the brow lowering glower loose on his own. "What?" He demanded, not surprised that his voice had deepened and darkened as well. He really couldn't pass for this with his natural tenor.

"We've been expecting stragglers to show up. Heard that Thackeray cut a lot of you guys loose last night."

Cover. An excuse. Another devious, underhanded, and all too logical act from the man that Pete wanted to paint as a plate armored fool. Again, a sign that it was time to start working for the smarter side. "Yeah. Fool that he is, he let me go. He'll regret it." The fiend coalesced behind him with a grotesque, wet noise and the nearest guard took a half step backwards.

"Yeah." He chuckled, "I'd say. Go on in. Crusher Dan will put you to work. We've got a busy day ahead of us and you've gotten here just in time."

And that sounded dire, it seemed like everything lately had been urgent. Time was always of the essence, he needed to get in there, get out and get back to Logan. He nodded, moving past them, deeper into the cleft. There was a door in the final rock wall, and he took a long breath before he pulled it open and entered the cave.

The space beyond was immense, and judging by the alterations made to it, had been in use for a long time. This was no back up bolt hole, this was a major base of operations, one that he had not been judged worthy enough to know about… but Alice was. He knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, because she was standing across the bridge that spanned a wide width of water that covered a good portion of the cave floor, talking to a youngish man dressed much like he appeared to be. In fact, every person here looked much the same, Ulrich's usually ragged appearance was now a blatant statement of his lack of standing in the gang, lack of respect, lack of worth. That made this so much easier. If they didn't value him, why should he value them? They'd let some stranger walk in, but not Ulrich.

He knew Crusher Dan, he'd met the man more than once, and if it was possible, he was less inspiring than Pete. Also he managed to be even heavier than Pete, and the six gods knew that Pete wasn't missing any meals.

"Well, look what the skritt dragged in. Who are you?"

Ulrich did his best nonchalant shrug, hoping that the Countess's illusion was as fine as it had looked in the water. It had to be…Dan hadn't recognized him, and he definitely knew him well enough to. "I just got sprung and I'm eager to prove myself. Pete said to check around and make myself useful."

"Good. There's plenty to be done… you look capable…at killing?"

Ulrich forced his lips to keep the same arrogant smirk that he'd started with, even though his heart fell. Killing? The list of people that Crusher Dan would want dead probably corresponded very closely to the list that Ulrich didn't want harmed.

"Those damned things started coming when we set up cook fires in here. They smell the meat, and are something we need to take care of before we start moving tonight. Don't want to lose somebody because they took a wrong step and got fried by the local pests." Dan pointed down, and Ulrich smiled. River drakes. Animals swimming in the deep, cold water. He could kill those, easily.

He nodded, focused on the closest of them, and cut loose. Since the minions did not breathe, water did not bother them, and they scurried without pause into the depths after the sleepy drake. Again, it was good to let this flow, be this machine, be one with his calling. And he did it under the safety of an identity that was not his, some unnamed stranger in a fancy coat.

It took him awhile to realize he was surrounded in silence, and that every pair of eyes in the cave was firmly planted on him. Even Alice was staring at him, her mouth slightly ajar. Great. If he was two hands taller, six stone heavier, and grew eyebrows that shaded half of his face, he could get her to look at him like that. She'd certainly never looked at him with such growing interest…

He channeled that anger into a particularly showy and sweeping end for the final drake, and then turned back to Crusher Dan with a bored expression. If he was going to play it, then he would play it for all it was worth. When this was over, he'd go back to being just Ulrich; he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

There was a sporadic round of applause, but Dan's gaze was measuring, plotting. Well, Ulrich had finally gotten himself noticed, good or bad. "Fine." Dan said, and Ulrich knew at that moment that it was bad. He'd just made an enemy of one of Pete's closest lieutenants, all for being a show off. "Take this…"

This happened to be a bloodied haunch of moa, imperiously shoved at Ulrich. Even though he knew that his clothes were just fake, an expression of the Countess's abilities, he could still see them and he pulled back from the bloody trail. "And go leave it on the rock outside. Kill what comes, and then…we'll talk."

Or not. Ulrich knew the edge to the man's voice, he really wasn't expecting Ulrich to come back at all, and he wouldn't be sorry if he didn't. Every word that came out of his mouth just proved Ulrich's path. He was being set up to die just because he appeared to be big, competent, and a threat to Dan's position.

"Right." He muttered, taking the meat by its ankle and walking outside with it. Just what was he about to get himself into with this? And this time there wasn't a giant, Quinn or Thackeray, to hide behind. Brilliant.

It came out of the water before he'd even dropped the meat, a giant, scarred river skale the size of a pack ox. Ulrich damn near threw the bait at it, moving quickly to open up a good casting range from it as he waved the minions into reality. He could do this. It was still just an animal. No qualms; just open up and let it go, let the minions harry it while he stayed out of its reach, harm's way, and drained it to death. Unfortunately, he could feel eyes watching him…Dan…Alice… he'd be damned before he'd die like an idiot in front of either one of them. Absolutely not, he refused. Anger rose in his soul and he harnessed it, used it to keep moving gracefully, to ignore the pain, and to power each harsh spell he threw at the monster.

It fell quickly, and Ulrich read the sudden silence from his spectators. It had been a misstep for Dan, and Ulrich had survived it. He needed to watch his back, closely. But right now, he had to just keep playing the game… He squared his shoulders and turned to give the bunch of them a faintly mocking bow, although the pain was enough to make the world spin. Alice couldn't suspect it was him, and if he favored that all too memorable injury, she would. "Can we stop playing games now?" He demanded, and Dan snorted.

"Had to be sure, you know. But yes, I've got work for you. Go see the Doc. He needs something fast and you seem to be the right man for the job."

Ulrich nodded, now they were getting somewhere. Missing poisons and confirmation that Doc Howler was in possession of them. He had suspected, but now he knew. Although he had never been quite certain of just how the insane blighter went with his 'experiments', he didn't like the whispers, and he certainly didn't like what he actually, concretely knew. Some people just needed to be put down, not given the free rein to perversions that Pete had seemed all too willing to give that one. Maybe Thackeray would crush that one; it would be fitting and a worthy use of Ulrich's time.

Although he would recognize the man anywhere, and had caught sight of him the moment he moved towards the back of the cave and the camp there, he managed to hold a puzzled, uncertain look until Alice pointed him out.

He gave Alice what he hoped was an appropriately cocky grin and moved towards the thin, stooped, gray haired with his back turned. The Doc had cobbled together a crude laboratory, flames and beakers riddled the table in front of him, and Ulrich smelled death faint in the air around him.

You are the man who killed Quinn's dog. As if he'd spoken it aloud, the man spun to face him, eying him warily through strands of tangled, messy gray hair. All to prove the obvious, that a poison worked. A thousand rats in Divinity's Reach, and you chose that one animal to experiment on. "Eh?" The man demanded tersely, giving Ulrich a near manic stare. "What do you want?"

"Dan said you needed something?"

"Don't know you. Don't trust you." Ordinarily, such vehemence would worry Ulrich, but no one would take this one's rantings seriously. Everybody knew the man was as crazy as a bedbug, nothing new there. However, he kept the rather puzzled and confused look; a stranger shouldn't know just how insane the man actually was. "But it's your funeral. You die; they bring you back to me, all good. You know what's up there, beyond the ceiling?"

Ulrich followed the point of the man's knobby finger, and nodded. "The cemetery."

"The cemetery, yes. And there's a plant there that grows on…certain…graves. Bring it to me. Wicked tangle. It's wicked…" He snickered, "And it looks like a tangle. Smart boy like you can figure it out, eh?"

Ulrich nodded warily. He already knew the plant, he'd been careful to avoid it on his numerous trips to the cemetery, it felt deeply baneful and caused the warnings to stir in his soul. "I can do that." He breathed, but the man's attention was already lost to him.

He sighed, and moved to the back of the cave, past an intrigued Alice without so much as a nod in greeting…she was the last person here that he wanted to talk to. He'd let something stupid slip, and she'd recognize him. It would all be over, then. Until he was certain she wanted out, for real and for good, he didn't trust her. It was one thing that she knew he was ambivalent, another altogether for her to know he was a rat.

He knew where the door out was on the other side, which meant the path to it must be back here…and sure enough, a narrow passageway led upwards into muted shadows. "Hey." Alice called, "Be careful, there are…"

"Bats and such, yes." He finished. It was a cemetery, it attracted dark things. It was in that very same cemetery that he had first realized his calling, just steps away from Grenth's shrine. He knew the place like the back of his own hands. He felt calm there, even understanding that it was crawling with creatures as attracted to death as he was.

It was still early morning, earlier than he usually came, and he frowned when he emerged onto the hilltop. Yes, he knew the place well, but the day hadn't had the chance to banish many of the things that came in the dark. He'd have to fight his way through many to reach the closest growth he knew of. He sighed, shook his head, summoned the minions and got started.

The creatures gave way to his push, and the brightening day, until he was free to stride boldly to the tombstone fixed firmly in his memories. He'd come up here, in the shadow of Divinity's Reach, looking for a dream, and had never found it. Pete said that Ulrich was just like all the other children, like Quinn, abandoned, jetsam from women who never wanted them. Just trash, worthless, dropped to fend for themselves and be picked up by gangs to raise.

"Silly Ulrich." No. Not him. He had always known that the blonde woman in his dreams was his mother. He had lived in that sunbeam drenched house with her, and an indulgent dog. He'd had a place. She'd loved him. Something had happened, and it had been bad. So he'd come up here, looking for a tombstone that felt tied to him, looking for her. Except he was certain that none of these were hers, this was just a place heavy with meaning to his god, his calling, but not particularly to his own life.

He knelt before the ugly plant, loathe to touch it. Finally he wrapped a scrap of rag around his hand and yanked it rudely, roots and all, from the ground. He hadn't been told which part of the plant, and it would be just like the Doc to send him back up because he'd brought the wrong piece. This was a good one; it came with everything…roots, bloated pink blossoms, withered dark fruits, and was the largest one in the entire cemetery.

He walked back, remembering to add just the faintest hint of a swagger to his steps, shot Alice the grin again, and walked up behind the Doc. "I brought your plant."

"You never asked what part I needed…"

And Ulrich really found it amusing when he was correct. "Doesn't matter. I brought the whole damn thing."

"So…you did. That will do nicely."

Ulrich nodded, fighting his urge to find a nice corner, and sprawled in a nearby chair, deliberately grinding his weight to make it squeal like a man of his apparent size had settled into it. He sensed Alice's approach behind him, and fought his nerves down, glancing at her when she sat next to him. "So." He began before she could start any questions that would make him fish for a lie, "What's going on?"

She regarded him with an amazing mix of fascination and wariness, and he scowled at her. "Look. I've been cooling my heels in a jail for months. Just let me know if this is going to make Thackeray look bad, that pompous bastard smirks like he owns the world and I want to see him drown in it."

"Oh, he'll drown alright." She chuckled. "When we poison Divinity's Reach's wells. Even he has to drink sometime, and he's been hanging around the city a lot lately. Might even get him in this."

Poison Divinity's wells? The capital was just that, the capital. The Queen lived within its walls. The headquarters of all three of the military orders were there, their main garrisons and barracks. As noted, Thackeray spent much of his time there… if the Seraph fell, then who would hold against the centaur? Kryta could fall, and she was humanity's last standing kingdom. Had they completely lost their minds?

"I'm sorry." He breathed, standing up. "Being inside like this is starting to get to me. Reminds me of jail. I need some air."

"Of course…" She smiled, and when she asked after his name, he pretended to not hear her. It didn't matter, her lovely, tall, dark and brooding necromancer didn't exist anyway, and Ulrich just needed out of there. It was no real act to seem unnerved by the cave, he was truly disturbed. This was what he'd been living with, helping, and even considering being a part of? With as much as he grasped that Thackeray understood, it was a miracle he'd survived the assault on Shaemoor Garrison. It would have been all too easy to let him die there, but no, Thackeray had removed him from it.

He was past the lookouts, and well on his way before the glamour faded and he was Ulrich again, hurrying down the road for Divinity's gate.


	9. Chapter 9

He pushed through the crowds, moving like he had a purpose, and most of them gave way before him. He squared his shoulders and looked somber as he approached the cascade of flowing magic that stood at the juncture of every main street, the gate upwards into a part of Divinity's Reach he'd never even tried to see before. Why would he need to go to the Royal Quarter? The area of the city that the military orders claimed? The Seraph? The Ministry? The Shining Blade? Run afoul of any of those, and he would have been lucky to see the inside of jail rather than an instant execution.

He emerged into a lovely garden area, graceful, shaded and cool in spite of the rapidly warming day. Young women wandered and chatted, each dressed in a flowing, colorful dress. Young men stood graceful, impeccable, and Ulrich frowned. He was better dressed than normal, but once again managed to be completely too poor for his surroundings.

"Captain Thackeray's office?" He asked of the nearest watchful Seraph, who wrinkled her eyes in a smile behind the guard of her helm and pointed all of the way across the expanse.

"When you hit the cluster of Seraph, you're there." She stated with a chuckle. Ulrich nodded his thanks and moved quickly across the space, making certain to give each of the groups of nobility a wide berth as he did so. As promised, there was indeed a cluster of Seraph shading under the cover of a porch protecting a massive doorway.

"I need to speak to Thackeray." He stated, and three quarters of them looked dubious. Two did not, nodding immediately.

"Ulrich." One of them identified without having to pause. "The hero of Shaemoor. Let him pass."

"Ulrich." The largest of them, an older man with gray lightening his temples, stared down at Ulrich. This was a Seraph officer, Ulrich knew that the showy sweep of metallic wings shielding his shoulder and neck marked him as such. "Absolutely." He pulled the massive door open, and waved Ulrich into the interior of Thackeray's office.

It was a large room, well lit but not bright, dominated by a long set of tables. Ulrich would have loved to pause, to gape, perhaps even to delve into the bookshelves that ringed the room with jewel colored leather covers, but he felt Logan's immediate focus. No time. Maybe later, if he could prove himself worthy of it.

"Ulrich!" The man greeted immediately, and when the officer standing in front of him moved, Ulrich also noticed that the Countess stood beside him. "Already?"

"No time." Ulrich stated, and the greeting smile dropped off of Logan's face like a stone tossed over Divinity's great walls. "They plan to poison the city's wells tonight."

Logan cursed, a long, fluent and quite amazing string of obscenities that Ulrich was impressed with. The Countess was a little less impressed, but there was the hint of a smile on the corners of her lips and her eyes danced under the foreboding drop of her brows. "Sorry." He muttered in her general direction, but his gaze had already dropped to a sturdy, older man moving towards him. "Pierce. I need a map of all the wells in the city, and a list of who's available right now. Call them in, but I need everybody I can get in barracks as soon as possible... go. Ulrich, a word, please?" He motioned for Ulrich to follow him into the corner, and Ulrich do so.

"What are we looking at, here?" Ulrich asked. He had the best chance of picking Pete's people out of a crowd. He would need to be there, to give Thackeray the best warning when and where. It would take just moments to do this job…

"All of the wells draw from the same aquifer. If one of them is poisoned, they all are. The cisterns are empty; we've had no rain in weeks." Thackeray glanced up at the vaulted ceiling as if he could see through the limestone, and Ulrich knew what he didn't say. The sky that day was pristinely clear, devastatingly blue. It would not rain today, nor did it feel like it would any time soon. "Nearest water is Shaemoor. I'd have to bring troops in from the outposts to manage moving that much water into the city. The centaur are already on the move, if I pull troops, they'll take advantage of it and they'll be pounding on the main gates."

"We can't have that." Ulrich agreed. The centaur were being difficult enough without giving them help. Obviously, the best response was to stop Pete before it came to that. "I'll keep watch for them."

Again, that regret crossed Logan's features. "When this is over, Ulrich, we'll talk. I promise. I hate to keep you going like this, nothing I'd like more than to get you into the Hospital and get where you sit with us worked out. I'll have you watched. Make it obvious if you see them."

Ulrich nodded, leaving the office and moving quickly back down into the depths of Divinity's Reach. The chances that they would gather at Salma and move from there to the closest main well were high, and he intended to work that angle. And he had plenty of practice watching the comings and goings of his own neighborhood, he knew just the place to go to roost at.

He climbed a tree until he could reach the ledge and pulled himself over cautiously and settled into the shadow. He felt unseen but he knew better, if Thackeray stated he was being watched, then he was. He just didn't have the slightest hint of what must be an extremely talented thief attached to him. But then, Thackeray's people were better than just competent, he was bringing Kryta's best to serve.

He was fighting a doze off when he recognized the glut of people leaving Salma… his suspicions solidified when he caught Doc Howler's long, bent form with them. He waited for them to pass well beneath him before he dropped out of the tree behind them.

"Them?" The barest whisper of a voice, the slightest hint of weight behind him.

"The skinny, gray haired woman. She's the poison master."

"Got them." And it was gone, just like that. Ulrich sighed, shook his head, and fell into step well behind the group. It was pretty obvious which of the main wells they were headed for; when he was once again acquired by one of Thackeray's people…possibly even the first one.

"Duck into this alleyway. Thackeray is on his way."

Ulrich did as he was bid, and it was just a few moments before he heard the distinctive noise of a heavy man in full armor coming up beside him. "They're after the well in Skull Plaza." Ulrich greeted abruptly, and Logan made a noise of agreement next to him.

"Let them commit to it first, and we'll move. It's a good place to trap them at…whoever decided on this one was either complacent or stupid."

Or both.

"Go." Logan hissed when there was a sharp, small flash of light from one of the roofs overlooking the well. "That's the one they're after."

Ulrich boiled out into the main roadway, heading after them, but was a little nonplussed when Logan passed him up. The man moved as if he was completely unburdened, the length of a sword already drawn and at the ready.

"The well is just ahead, stay close!"

Ulrich didn't need to be told that, he had every intention of letting Logan front this. He had the training, the armor; he was the Queen's Champion. Ulrich would help where he could, but there was nothing more useless than dead.

The fight was already on when they arrived, the group that had been watching the well had already thrown in, and Ulrich faded back, looking for his target.

There she was, trying to stay out of the combat and still make it to the well. That was not going to happen… Ulrich focused on her, and the minions popped out of the cobblestones between him and the Doc, scrambling towards her. She cursed, her dark eyes following their path back to him. She looked startled when she recognized him, placed him first as Ulrich, and then, the leap was obvious… she placed him as the disguised necromancer.

"Rat!" She shrieked at him as the minions made it to her. "Damned rat!"

"Take her alive, Ulrich!" Thackeray bellowed, "I need her!"

Right. Alive. As long as she didn't close with the well, he was secure enough to keep harassing her, he had range. All he had to do was hold her off until someone else better prepared came to get her, and by the growing pile around Thackeray, that wouldn't take long. They just simply were not prepared to handle heavily armored Seraph, and Thackeray's silent, vanishing thieves. Their only hope had been surprise, and it was gone.

Logan finished the last gang member off before he turned to the pair of them and stalked over. Ulrich expected the Doc to watch him come, but her malign stare was still locked on him, and she was grinning like some fool. He felt the hair rise on his forearms, and he stared back at her warily.

"Ulrich." She giggled, and he was heartened to see that the Captain had the same measuring, dark stare in response to her. "No more. You win. Congratulations. You spoiled my greatest experiment. Too bad your friend Quinn won't be around to help you celebrate."

Ulrich felt suddenly ill, and it had nothing to do with pain or heat. What was she on about? "What do you mean?" He managed out of a mouth gone suddenly dry. "Where is Quinn?"

She grinned at him triumphantly, and the ill grew to dizzy. No. No. He didn't want to hear this. He really didn't… "He's dead, hero." She spat at him, "We heard about the apothecary. You don't ruin the apex of my scientific career without consequences. Two-Blade Pete carved him up like a Wintersday roast."

Bile crawled up Ulrich's throat, but he couldn't will himself to even swallow. No. It couldn't be. Not Quinn. The witch was just toying with him… "You think this is funny?" He yelled, his voice rising perilously close to a screech. "I'll kill you and your whole gang!" He was going to be sick. He was going to start screaming. He was going to pass out.

His minions had flattened themselves to the very cobblestones, and were doing something he'd never heard in all the time they'd been a part of him; they were growling and hissing in little burbly rat voices. Their tails lashed the air, naked and wet.

Logan had paused to listen, but was now on a fast approach, and his expression was more dire and threatening than it had been at Shaemoor…or any other time that Ulrich had seen it. He drew shoulder to shoulder on Ulrich's right side and reached out to grasp his far shoulder with a gauntleted hand, both supporting Ulrich's suddenly dizzy stance, and holding him back from charging the coldly smiling Doc.

"Calm down, Ulrich." He breathed, and it was all that Ulrich could do to avoid gushing in maniacal laughter. Calm down? Calm down? The only person in all existence who gave a damn in his life was gone, and Thackeray told him to calm down? "I'll make sure this piece of trash gets what's coming to her. Seraph! Take the prisoner out before I chop her up and feed her to the harpies!"

And then she was gone, out of his sight and out of his range. The minions followed her as far as they could, then went onto their bellies and whined in impotent rage when she was gone. Suddenly Ulrich couldn't bear his own weight anymore and went to the stones, sitting in total dejection in Thackeray's shadow, knees drawn to his chest, forearm resting across them, his face hidden.

"Pete killed Quinn." He just couldn't get his mind to wrap around that idea. Quinn couldn't be gone. It was all just some terrible joke...on him. He'd wake up. He would… "Pete's got to pay. I helped you, Captain, and now I'm calling in that favor. I want Two-Blade Pete in the ground."

"Agreed." He hadn't been expecting that immediacy of agreement, but this was the man who seemed willing to meet the gangs' crimes with a steel will and blade. "Listen. Pete will be after you next, he can't afford to let you live. Meet me at the tavern, and when Pete comes for you, we'll be waiting for him."

"All right. But if Pete doesn't come to us, I'm tearing this whole city apart until I find him." He glanced up at the man standing above him. Thackeray's attention was steady, ahead; although there was nothing there… it was as if he was in a discussion with himself. He finally nodded, and looked down at Ulrich, extending a hand to help him up off of the cobbles.

"I've been where you are right now, Ulrich. Don't lose control; save what you're feeling for the person responsible."

Me? No, he refused to go there. It was all Pete's doing. And Pete was going to die for it. He took the hand and staggered to his feet, banishing the minions, numb and cold in spite of the heat. He was alone. Well, and truly. He couldn't think of a single person who gave the sliver of a damn about him now. And Pete was going to pay for that.

He watched the clean up in silence, feeling like he wasn't quite there, like he had faded into the stonework. And, when they were done, he merely nodded coldly at Logan and headed towards home, the tavern, and an inevitable confrontation.


	10. Chapter 10

Ulrich made his way back to Salma in a shocked silence. He just couldn't get his mind around it; it had to be some sort of mistake. A lie. Quinn was fine, as always…

He had barely stepped through the gate when he encountered all the proof he needed… Four solemn Seraph eyed a restive crowd that had gathered around the fountain. Ulrich recognized each of them, and they recognized him as quickly, one of them moving to intercept him. "No, boy, you don't want to see." He breathed, turning Ulrich away while his companions stood as a shield that Ulrich had no chance of seeing through. "We'll handle it."

"Handle what?" Ulrich demanded numbly… he had just bathed in that fountain a couple of days ago, but it was still right now, silent, no water flowed down from it.

"Your friend. I'm sorry, boy."

"Right." Ulrich mumbled, feeling that same cold, sick, dizzy doubt rising in his chest. Quinn was in the fountain. Or what was left of him, left as a warning and a message…for Ulrich.

"They say he stood at Shaemoor Garrison beside Thackeray." The murmur, flowing beneath the hubbub of voices. "Kept the well from being poisoned, and this is how he's repaid." He didn't recognize the voice, and even if he did, he was in no mood to talk. All he wanted to do was go to the tavern. Wait. And to spill blood…Pete's blood.

He moved without comment through the crowd, climbing the steps into the tavern. It was decidedly empty, and Andrew the innkeep stared at him for a long moment.

"Ulrich." And he was about to be thrown out. Petra had the same glare she had before she'd hit…Quinn…with a broom for ogling her too openly. The innkeeper's blonde daughter was a fighter, she'd had to be, and she was afraid of nothing that Ulrich had managed to discover yet. "I heard. I'm…sorry." She twisted her fingers in her skirt. "You need a place for the night?"

Brave or stupid, Ulrich wasn't certain. Only a fool would offer him shelter tonight, with Pete after him. "I'm here to meet someone." He mumbled, and a quick flash of denial chased its way across her pretty face.

"No, Ulrich… that's insanity. He'll kill you, we can hide you tonight and get you out of the city tomorrow…"

"I'm not going anywhere. And I'm meeting Captain Thackeray, here. Now." There was no way he was going to hide. No way was he going to slink out of Divinity's Reach as if he was the one who had done something wrong. He'd gotten into this because he was doing right, for once, and the right side was going to have his back on it.

Petra gazed at him for a long moment, before nodding and rejoining her father behind the bar. They both felt like they'd love to be just about anywhere else right then, and Ulrich didn't blame them.

A shadow filled the doorway, and Ulrich's heart skipped a beat. Pete? Already? If so, he was doomed… No, it was Thackeray, followed by a good sized group of Seraph. Logan merely nodded, obviously they'd come to some plan earlier, out of Ulrich's earshot, because they went straight upstairs. Thackeray watched them go before he glanced at Ulrich. "We'll be upstairs, and we'll throw in when Pete does. Until he's here, you're on your own. Don't want to chase him down if he hears we're here."

"Thanks." Ulrich sighed, and was left alone again when he followed his cohorts upstairs. He felt just like a worm on a hook, spinning in the breeze. The panic and dread were wearing down, he felt empty, chilled, pained and suddenly hungry.

"What do you mean, he's in the tavern?" Alice's voice, strident and annoyed. Fear edged her voice, and Ulrich raised his eyes to the door. She came through it, flustered and in an obvious hurry, a pack slung over her shoulder.

"What are you doing here, short stuff? Don't you know Pete's on his way here to kill you?"

"I'm counting on it."

"He killed Quinn already, Ulrich." She stared at him as if he wasn't quite hearing her.

"I know. And left him in the fountain outside. Going somewhere, Alice?" If so, she'd better hurry. Pete could be there any moment…

"Always the brave one." She stated, and he frowned at her. Brave? No, not really, but he wasn't in the mood to argue anything at all at that moment. He needed her out of the tavern before all hell broke loose. "Listen, I'm taking your advice and I'm getting out of this. This is more than I agreed to, killing and poisoning… nah." She shook her head. "Don't do something stupid like getting yourself killed before I have a chance to thank you properly."

"Don't worry. I'll deal with Pete. We'll see each other again after this is all over."

"I'm going to hold you to that." She breathed, and then vanished into the cellar. Ulrich knew she was getting out, accessing the sewers and keeping off of the streets. He'd hold all of the attention here, and she'd get a clean break. It worked well.

He heard shouting from outside, and had half stood to go see what was going on, when the doorway filled with people. He sighed, unsurprised to see Dan heading the group, but somewhat surprised that there was no sign of Pete's bulk. And Thackeray wouldn't show his cards until Pete had committed… He had to hold this himself. That was fine; a foreign feeling was rising in his gut. He'd never really hated before, never felt this unyielding righteousness flowing. He'd never felt an urge to kill rise before…

The fiend coalesced with a pop behind him, and Dan gazed it in near recognition. It became concrete when Ulrich pointed the scepter at him. "You." He hissed. "You were the plant. You sold us out, Pete was right…"

"He had to get something right, sometime." Ulrich hissed back, and the minions split the wood floor and bounced up. "Yes, I'm your necromancer. Come and get me."

They tried, they really did. Ulrich was fairly certain at least one of Thackeray's thieves was around, he doubted if he killed them all, but when the crash ceased, they were piled around him…dead. Pete was running out of people, and the smart ones were running. This could work…

"You think you're smarter than Pete, do ya?" The voice was almost quiet, and Ulrich looked up towards the doorway. Pete's mass filled it, and he could smell the man's rage in the very air around him. "Think you hurt me? Let me tell you something…"

"Better than you have tried." Ulrich noted slowly. Compared to the centaur sage and the elemental it had summoned at Shaemoor, Pete was small potatoes indeed.

"Tried and failed? Look kid, I'm not easily intimi…"

The nearest minion made that strangled hissing yowl, and Pete glanced at it warily. He'd been expecting just Ulrich, just one small man. This was why Ulrich had hidden this.

"Tried and died."

"Huh. Maybe I underestimated you." Yes, that was the stare that Ulrich had dreaded, scheming, greedy, plotting how to unleash Ulrich's gifts upon those who stood against him.

"More than you know." The voice came from the stair's landing, and Thackeray stepped into the light. Ulrich was amused, Pete was after him because he knew he was working with the Seraph, and he still managed to look surprised that the Seraph's captain was here? He just didn't get it, at all. "Prison's full, Pete. Let's skip the trial, and go straight to the execution."

Pete was a much better combatant than Ulrich would have thought, but was outclassed by Ulrich's enraged focus of his gift and the outraged Champion of the Queen of Kryta. Logan brought him to his knees, and stepped back, his brown eyes settling on Ulrich.

"He's yours." He breathed, stepping back. Ulrich nodded, leveling the scepter at Pete and embracing the death that crawled from his soul. The man had killed his only friend, the only person who truly cared, and left him in a fountain for Ulrich to find. He deserved to die for it, and he did.

"Come on." Logan said, dismissing the event as if it had never really occurred, stepping over Pete's bulk. "I promised someone I'd see you to the Hospital when this was all done. And I think it is, for now."

Hospital. The very idea sat wrong with Ulrich and he shook his head. "No... Logan. I need some time to myself, alone." He couldn't imagine being hovered over right now. He just needed to curl up and cry, in peaceful quiet.

"Very well." Logan frowned, but nodded. "Promise me one thing before I let you go…"

Let me go. A thousand bitter complaints rose to Ulrich's lips but he contained them. Thackeray had the authority and reasons enough to hold on to him, even if he'd done nothing wrong…recently. "What?"

"When you're ready to come in, you come to me. You know where my office is, even if I'm not there, my staff will know how to handle it. I'm not willing to let you swing in the wind after all you've done. I understand tonight, Ulrich, believe me I do. But afterwards, we'll settle our debts when you're in more of a mind to do so."

"Very well." Ulrich nodded, and vanished the very moment that Thackeray turned his attention away. It was getting dark, and all he wanted to do was find a quiet, safe, distant place to let go in. The streets were chaos, and too many people were watching him, both surreptitiously and openly, but he finally managed to slip the eyes and make his way to the point where he could lose himself on the roofs. He knew just the place to go to ground in, a bricked off part of an attic. It was dark and blessedly silent when he slipped through the window to it and settled down to stare at the spangled sky above. He was too numb to cry. Too numb to sleep. To numb to do anything but stare and blink. Quinn…

Alone. Totally and completely, for the first time he could remember. They'd both been taken in by the same woman, even though neither of them was hers. Now, Ulrich understood she'd been paid to care for prospects, but then, he'd viewed her almost as much his mother as the blonde woman in his dreams. "Found you, I did. How could I miss that hair?"

But she was gone now. Quinn was gone now. The woman in his dreams, gone. All gone.

At some point he must have dozed, because one moment he was staring at the sky feeling numb, sick dread, and then he was startled awake by yelling on the streets below him. Panic, and a great hubbub… he moved to where he could look out and down. His first bleary thought was that it was an unusually ruddy dawn, especially for a cloudless time. His second thought was that he'd slept through and that it was a dire sunset. His head cleared and his mind informed him that if either was so, the sun was in the north. No, that was a fire…a big fire.

He cringed, climbing back through the window. It had been so dry lately, it wasn't a real surprise, and north would put it in Salma. North would put it…at the Hospital?

The second he made it to the edge of the roof, he realized that there were flames to the south as well and a sharp breeze carried smoke in the air. Was the whole district burning? He felt a sudden, uneasy claustrophobia; Salma was enclosed by high walls, and a great gate to the south of his position…in the direction of that other fire. He climbed down, uncertain which way to go. He finally talked himself into going south, to check the gate. There was a sudden rush of air, hot and glowing with embers, and a deep explosion from behind him knocked Ulrich off of his feet and landed him flat on his stomach.

Pain flowed over him and he froze, fighting to keep breathing, to stay conscious, and to not vomit. He won two out of the three fights, staggering back to his feet. The last thing he needed was to be down if people panicked and coursed down this street. He'd be trampled for certain.

He came out around the side of Petra's tavern, into a flurry of people and Seraph. His notoriety, just a few hours old, was overshadowed by this, and he stared in disbelief. The Orphanage was afire. And the Hospital had been burning before it exploded. They stood on opposite sides of the district, and nothing else was burning. The chances of that happening without arson being involved were simply astronomical.

"Arson, who'd burn down an orphanage on purpose?"

Ulrich had no clue. Who would do them both, together, on the same night? Even less of a clue. It was as if the world had just lost its mind, and he was just along for the ride.

Thackeray appeared from the north, and Ulrich only thought he'd seen the man truly enraged before, and he sensed the thin edge of exhaustion under his swagger. He'd come off of fighting Pete's gang at the well to this just a few hours later?

"You." He pointed without hesitation at Ulrich, and it was all Ulrich could do to keep from flinching. "What happened to you?"

"Explosion knocked me down, but I'm fine. Really. Wasn't at the Hospital…" Thackeray's eyes were black in the uncertain light, and Ulrich knew better than to push this even one feather width. Whatever Thackeray wanted, he was going to get.

"Harris!"

"Yessir?" A young Seraph pulled himself out of the crowd at the summons, his helm under his elbow. He'd been injured; there was a thin ribbon of blood staining his white and gold tabard.

"Take yourself and Ulrich here to the Barracks infirmary. And both of you…" Those eyes fell on Ulrich, "Will stay there."

"Yessir."

Ulrich only nodded, it actually did sound like a very good idea. He felt worse than ever and getting off of the streets and out of this insanity was the sanest offer…command…that he'd gotten lately.

"Let's go." He sighed to the young Seraph, and the two of them made their slow, deliberate way to the Upper City and the Barracks.

"What happened to you?" The Seraph asked morosely, and Ulrich gave him a pained grin and pulled his shirt up. Even in the faint lighting, the bruise was all too obvious.

"I got hit by a cart, at Shaemoor."

The young man…he couldn't be more than a couple or three years older than Ulrich, raised his brows. "You're that Ulrich? Hero of Shaemoor?"

Well, it had more of an imposing ring to it than 'Short Stuff'. And Ulrich was hardly a common name. "Yes." If people were going to keep throwing it at him, then he guessed he would take it.

"It's an honor!" And there was nothing even slightly false about that statement. Although he hurt, inside and out, the words were a comfort. He was led straight to a long, white walled building that looked vaguely too much like he'd imagined jail to look for his immediate comfort, but it proved to be the promised barracks. It was well lit inside, a long corridor lined with doors.

"Sam!" His guide called, and a tall, thin, spare woman came out of the opening at the very end of the tiled hallway. "Customers."

"What happened to you?" She demanded, moving closer. "What's going on?"

"The Hospital exploded." Harris sighed, "You'll be getting quite a few customers tonight, nowhere else to send them."

"Hospital…exploded?" Her eyes, a muddled gray, turned stormy, but then she obviously reined in her response. "Right. What happened to you?"

"I took a shard through the armor when the Hospital blew. He…" A nod towards Ulrich. "Is the guy who backed up Captain Thackeray at Shaemoor Garrison. The one that was put back in to gather intelligence…"

"Right. This way."

He was led into the room at the end, an open bay with eight beds in it. Two more people appeared when she rang a bell, and they descended on Harris, easily removing his armor, while the woman turned back to Ulrich.

"You stink of vomit." She noted casually, and he spread his hands in supplication. "Nah. When did that happen? And why?"

"I got knocked down and hit the bruise. The pain…" He bit his lip; here he was, whining about pain, when they were getting ready to pull a hand long shard of wood out of the other guy. "Well, I puked. Less than an hour ago." He pulled his shirt off when she motioned at him to do so, and glanced down. It was fading slightly, the edges turning a putrid green, but it was still a gloriously impressive mark. She pressed on it cautiously…and he hissed in response. "What do you want?" She asked enigmatically, and shrugged when he stared at her in confusion. "If I wasn't here, if it was only you, what would you do for yourself?"

"I'd take a bath, drink, have some soup, and go to sleep for the next week or so." That sounded marvelous.

"That's almost what I recommend. I do intend to give you something for the pain before we put you down for that week long nap, but you have the rest of it right."

And that's precisely what they did; Ulrich had a long, cool bath, a thin soup, water, and was settled into one of the beds in the infirmary. The last thing was a thick, syrupy draught of something that tasted fiercely of blueberries, and he was gone in a moment.


	11. Chapter 11

Logan Thackeray, Captain of the Seraph, Champion of the Queen of Kryta, glared at an unoffending ledger on his desk. It was always difficult to come back down after turmoil, to set his mind back to the foundations of running the Seraph, after he'd been out doing things, and the last four days definitely qualified as doing things. It had been exhausting and exhilarating all at once. For some reason he couldn't quite get, the entire city had experienced a spasm of what could only be called insanity. Kidnappings, insane circuses, poisonings, arson…

"Tell me you've slept." Anise growled from the doorway and he nodded. He had, actually. "It seems calm, now."

Good and bad. Logan nodded, knowing she didn't share his very need to go do something physical. "Now." He agreed, staring at the ledger and seeing nothing. He wasn't a bureaucrat. He wasn't a paper herder. He was a soldier. "Ulrich."

Anise paused, took her chair next to him and pondered the empty, shadowed office. He didn't need to actually ask, she often came perilously close to reading his mind. "Potential." She replied without reservation, and he nodded. Much what he felt. "Although I am wondering who's missing one very fine young Ascalonian male. I hate to be…" she let the phrase hold in the air, "An elitist, but that's not a guttersnipe."

"You, an elitist? Never." The joke was pale, and he knew she understood that he had posed no argument to her actual point. "Very fine. Very young." And rather obviously of Ascalonian parentage, too pale to be Krytan. But Ascalon had fallen, and Divinity's Reach was full of people with pale complexions and bright blond heads. "How old would you say?"

She frowned, thoughtful. "Seventeen, or thereabouts. Why?"

Logan nodded, that was close to his own guess. She'd given Ulrich an extra year or two; his guess had been fifteen or sixteen. "Been checking the city's censuses. No Ulrichs, but that's not surprising…" Those who lived in the underbelly of Divinity's Reach could get quite paranoid over the smallest of things, and hiding from accurate headcount, of being named in the citywide census, was a big thing to them. "If Ulrich is even his name."

"To him, it is."

"I'd like to keep him." Logan sighed, and she chuckled. "What?" He demanding, staring at her.

"Of course you want to keep him. Give him some actual training, and responsibility…the boy will shine. You need a solid necromancer, and to raise your own up in the Seraph is the best you're going to get. He's a good young man. Bright. And he deserves better than what he's getting. Is that what you're asking me?"

"Yes."

"Don't let that one fall, Logan. Right now, he's all potential, good or bad. There will be no indifferent. I'd rather have him beside us than against us… Necromancers willing to deal with the Seraph and the Shining Blade are a rare and wonderful gift. We have had one drop in our hands, and we should cultivate him."

"I should have been able to save his friend… I knew he was concerned about him, but I never thought it would go that quickly.

"Do you think he holds it against us?"

"Right now, he's in shock."

Anise smiled gently, "Then we bring him through this the best we can. It's all we can do, Logan."


	12. Chapter 12

Ulrich regained consciousness slowly. Where had he gone to ground that had allowed him sleep his fill like this? Usually he could squeak out a handful of hours at the most, the gang was heavily nocturnal, but he had never been able to sleep deeply during the day. That left him making do with short naps, but he felt terribly stiff. He'd been asleep in the same position for a very long time, undisturbed.

And he was resting in a bed. In a cool, dim space. He opened his eyes in sudden concern; there were few places that would have allowed him either of those good things. He had no clue where he was, it almost looked like some sort of cellar, unornamented whitewashed limestone walls, and a very small, narrow window casting a beam of light down far from his head. He was in a small cot, wrapped around his waist with a worn, clean sheet, but otherwise, naked as a baby bird.

This sounded like the beginning of one of those stories that the young gang members liked to spin, the ones that Ulrich had never been gullible enough to quite believe.

Prison? The narrow window was bisected by a bar sank deeply into the mortar, and Ulrich's stomach plunged. Why couldn't he remember how he'd gotten here? His head felt like it had been wrapped in wool for packing and shipment… He groaned in disgust.

"Ulrich! You're awake!" A sturdy woman dressed in plain breeches and tunic covered by a full apron, appeared at the foot of the bed, haloed by the beam of light. She wasn't pretty, but her smile was flawless with honest relief. He knew her. He'd met her…she was… she was….Thackeray's medic.

"Sam?" The woolly fog was lifting and the pieces were falling back into place. Quinn… "I'm still in the infirmary?" Of course he was. This was the last place he recalled being at.

"You are, been with us for the past four days."

Well, that certainly explained a definite need he'd developed. And along with that definite need was the knowledge that at some point in those past four days he'd let it go. He felt a rising flush, but she seemed much more comfortable than he was…

"Where are the jakes?" He asked, and she chuckled at his discomfort.

"Think you're strong enough to stand?" She asked, and he glared back in response. He didn't care that they had been handling this for the past four days; he'd been blissfully asleep for that. He was awake and it ended now. "This way, then."

The infirmary seemed oddly empty, considering the promise of 'many customers' after the Hospital explosion. Each bed was tightly made and quite empty on the route to the privy closet halfway down the bay. He relieved himself, carefully wrapping the sheet to cover as much of himself as he could without it being too obvious that he was hiding in it, and stepped back out into the aisle. "Where is everybody? I thought…?"

"They've set up a temporary hospital in a warehouse, so I go back to being the Seraph medic." She grinned at him, apparently just fine with that. "Means you're my only patient, currently. And you've been a remarkably quiet one."

"Imagine that." She had led him back to the same bed he'd been in, and he settled carefully back down, doing his best to not let her see just how wobbly and shaky he was after such a short trip. "What did you give me?" He vaguely remembered a promise of something to make certain he slept.

"I keep my secrets." She laughed, plumping a pillow and waving him to lean against it. "You slept through breakfast, but I want you to drink something. I'll bring it."

She walked away, and Ulrich finally got the nerve up to take a long, hard look at himself. The worst of the bruise had passed, but as promised, there was a deep pink scar tightening the skin. "You're going to live." A soft voice came unexpectedly, and Ulrich jumped at it.

Thackeray was amazingly quiet without his armor, leaning against the screen that hid Ulrich's cot from the neighboring one. "Uh, yes. I am." Ulrich sputtered, fighting the sheet into submission and staring up at Logan. He looked oddly normal, oddly human, without the ornate armor that marked him as the Queen's chosen.

"Good. Are you up to this, or do you want me to wait until later?"

Up to what? Ulrich shrugged, uncertainly, but Logan apparently took the motion as assent, and pulled a chair up to sit next to Ulrich.

"I think I've made it fairly obvious I've got a place for you, if you choose to go that route…"

Ulrich felt his lips tighten. Working for the Seraph had, up until all too recently, been a faint dream he'd never really considered. It had been all wrapped up in reality, that taking that route would irrevocably mark him as a rat, a target of his gang. But the gang was ripped open, Pete and Dan dead, and he'd done them both. He, Ulrich, had destroyed it. He was so much more than just a rat, but those actions had opened those doors he'd thought would take years to even reach. "It has been a hope of mine." He finally admitted, and Logan gazed at him curiously, obviously that wasn't the answer the man had been expecting. "When I said I wanted to go straight, I meant in a big way." In a Seraph level of 'big way', completely leaving his past behind him, never to return to it. "What did you have in mind?"

"We don't get a lot of necromancers interested in serving the Seraph, Ulrich, but we have a lot of call for their services. I'd love for you to be just what you are, a necromancer, working through my office."

Not as an actual Seraph, of course, but with the respectability of working hand in hand with them. "Pay? I mean…" It was awkward to even bring it up, but Ulrich was hungry and he'd been that way for too damned long. He was done with 'working' for free. He was done with scraping and stealing. If he was going straight, then by the Six Gods, he would be paid an honest coin for it.

And Logan didn't seem at all put out by the question. "You'll be paid as a clerk in the beginning, it's not much, but we'll house you, feed you, and arrange training. And you have pay coming already, I did promise you'd be well rewarded for the tasks you've already done for us."

"House?" Ulrich wasn't quite certain he liked the sound of that. Pete's view of housing him had been to toss him in with a group of young men who towered over him and were more than willing to rob him blind knowing he'd say nothing about it. They'd have done worse, but Quinn had started to grow into his ominous size and thievery was the worst they'd been able to get away with. Ulrich preferred to be alone.

"A room of your own, in the barracks." It was as if the man had heard his thoughts. "Compared to what you've probably had, I can almost guarantee you it's an improvement. Roof. Walls. A door that locks. Warm and dry in the cold. Cool in the summer. No more hiding."

It sounded too good to be true…If Ulrich had just about anybody else than this particular man making this promise, he'd be laughing. "I'd work for you? With you?" He had to know exactly what he was agreeing to. Knowing his luck, Logan would make the promises, but someone much less trustworthy would be the force implementing them.

"You'd be working out of my office. I'm there sometimes, the Countess roams through on occasional, and Lieutenant Pierce handles the office's day to day affairs. But no, I'm not going to farm you out to some outpost where you'll disappear. I live in the barracks when I'm in Divinity's Reach, same as you'll be."

"I'm willing to give it a try." It sounded good, great, better than he dared hope for in all but his brightest of dreams.

And it looked better a day later, when he was released from the infirmary and found his way to the barracks, a key in his hand. He found the appropriately numbered door on one of the middle floors, and carefully worked the lock. He walked into the room, letting the door close silently behind him. He'd been expecting a tiny cell, and was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't a huge room, but much larger than his cynical expectations. It was brightly lit, a small bed, a wardrobe, even a small desk and chair and a wood burning stove. The view out of the solitary window overlooked the central plaza, and he stood, transfixed by it. He'd done a lot of dreaming of a room like this, but this was real. He could smell the dust, the warmed wood. Finally, finally, things were looking up…for him. He frowned sadly, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the plank flooring.

He had everything he'd ever wanted within his fingertips, but the price of it had been high. I'm sorry, Quinn. So, so sorry.

He almost expected something, some epiphany, some answer, but all there were was the cascade of dust motes hanging in the thick air. Ulrich sighed, shook his head, and moved to the window to open it. No amount of pining was going to bring Quinn back. No amount of looking back was going to come with a better way to have done things; they were all past him now. He just had to live with the consequences of his actions. He had to make those sacrifices worthwhile.


	13. Chapter 13

The air was cooler, crisp with a promise of autumn as it breathed down the streets of Divinity's Reach. The high windows of the office of the Seraph were propped open, and a breeze fell on Ulrich's bent head. He glanced up at the window, and smiled slightly. It had been a long, hard and hot summer, one he was glad to see finally come to an end. Although it had only been four months since he had come to work for the Seraph, he had grown half a hand in height and gained a stone in weight. Thankfully, the kitchen was used to feeding large Seraph who fought in armor, and they'd never said a word about his voracious appetite. He would never be a big man, but he was rapidly leaving behind the wiry, bony build of a hungry street urchin eating out of midden piles.

He turned the next page of the book open before him, and scanned it carefully. Admittedly his job here was not quite what he had been dreaming of, when Thackeray had said clerk, Thackeray had meant just that. His job was to go through incoming reports making certain that there was no hint of anything out of the ordinary. No tinge of the undead, no hint of Zhaitan's maneuverings beneath the still surface of mundane reports. No problems brewing in the catacombs beneath the city… It was a clerk's job that required the insight of a necromancer.

But, as promised, it gave him a roof over his head, silver in his pockets, good clothes and a full belly. He was surrounded by people who honestly seemed to have some level of respect for him, and he had access to books that made his calling all so clear.

He sighed, yawned, stood up and stretched luxuriously. He did his best work when the office was quiet, mostly deserted, but he had gotten stiff and hungry. But it was getting late, and his light was failing. He gathered up his satchel and headed down the stairs and out into the main office area. The office never closed, since the Seraph held the job of city guard as well as main army, so the door was always open and the front table was always manned. Logan was away, Ulrich understood now that the man spent most of his time getting into things, but Lieutenant Pierce was a good man that Ulrich had no trouble with obeying.

"Evening, Ulrich." Indeed, that was the soul manning the table, and Ulrich nodded politely to Pierce. "Hey. This came for you earlier, but you looked rather intent on whatever it was you were reading." The older man frowned and pushed a small package over the table. "It slipped my mind, sorry. Hope it's not too important…"

Ulrich shrugged, picking it up warily. It was addressed to "Ulrich, in care of the office of the Seraph", but he had no clue as to who would send him mail rather than just walking up and giving him anything. He didn't know anybody outside of the city's walls, in fact, with the fall of the gang; he didn't really know anybody now who didn't work for the Seraph. Any of them would just leave something on his desk…

He tore the package open, and there was a bright clink as the metallic object inside fell to the table in front of Pierce. It was a large bronze coin, attached to an ornate chain, and Ulrich picked it up. On the side that had landed upwards, it had the royal seal of Kryta struck into it. The other side was engraved, and he turned it to catch the light.

"By order of the King, to mark service above and beyond, this award is granted to Varich Stalven…"

Ulrich frowned in confusion. This wasn't his. He'd never seen it before, and the name almost meant nothing. Almost, but there was a hint, a breath, something that nagged and niggled deep in his brain. "I…" He turned it to Pierce, hanging from his grasp by the chain and the older man took it slowly.

"A commendation from the Queen's father. To one…" he puzzled over the engraving as Ulrich had done… "Varich Stalven. I don't know the name, but I should if this is real. No note?"

Ulrich creased the package to look inside, and there was indeed a note enclosed. He pulled it out and unfolded it, his face going still and expressionless as the words finally began to make sense. "This was your father's. It has taken me this long to locate you, finally. We need to meet. I will be in the Central Plaza at sundown for the next three days…"

"Well?" Pierce demanded, and Ulrich realized he'd moved away from the table and was perusing one of the large, leather bound censuses chained to the wall. "Nothing." He growled, "Nothing at all. The name is not here, Ulrich."

"Note claims that would be my father's name or that it belonged to my father for some reason." It couldn't be, but then, all of his life he'd been living out of sight. Maybe they just hadn't been able to find him during all of these years… Maybe he had a family, still. Someone out there looking for him, who hadn't been able to pin down his whereabouts until he surfaced with a real job and a stable home.

"Could be. Our census is still somewhat incomplete, but I would have certainly thought someone given that honor would have been on it. You weren't on our census until you started here, this name isn't…but you've been here how long? What do you know?"

Ulrich sat in a chair and pondered the battered table top, scarred from years of armored elbows rested upon it, and considered the question. "I was told." He began slowly, "That I was found alone, crying in a corner in Rook's Row, and they thought I was about three. Then they moved it up to about four or five."

He didn't need the dubious look that the older man gave him to draw his own doubts as to that. He grew up in that gang, and had been well aware that some of the children had been there quite illegally. Most were cast offs from prostitutes, but enough of them were not to shed doubt on the story. And those who were cast off had always seemed to know it, and even had a vague idea of who their mothers were. "I know. I know. I knew every child in Salma, and I know that everybody around me knew every child in Salma, even the nobility's up on the hill." He just couldn't see them truly not knowing who he belonged with. "But every person who would know is dead."

"Unfortunate." Pierce shook his head, closing the book and replacing it in its spot. "I guess the question is; do you want to know?"

Absolutely. How could he not, when we dreamed of home so often? That blonde woman had never given him up; he knew that deep in his soul. He closed his fingers around the medallion and nodded sharply to himself. "I do." He muttered, his mind made up. And it was almost sundown, he'd better hurry.

The plaza was deep in shadows and most of the crowds that thronged it during the day had started to disperse. There were just the presences of a few bored Seraph, and some stubborn lovebirds squeezing out the last few minutes of time before they had to go home.

And one lone man, standing in the perfect center of the Plaza. He looked completely normal, completely bland. If pressed, Ulrich would have a hard time coming up with a description of him, he was just so plain.

"Ulrich?" The man demanded, and, in spite of hope welling in his soul, Ulrich took a cautious step backwards. This concern was insane, he was in the Plaza, just strides from the office of the Seraph, their barracks, the office of the Shining Blade, their barracks, and he could see the majestic doors to the Royal Palace itself from where he stood. "Yes." The man hissed, his face tensing. "You look like Suilia… your mother. Her hair, unmistakable…"

And unmistakable, even through Ulrich's sudden shock, was the gesture the man made, a sharp, flicking motion. Ulrich ducked under the knife, instinctively pulling the first cast in reaction. He's trying to kill me. Here. In the Plaza. In public, how? Why? Retribution for the gang's downfall?

Ulrich's minions exploded out the nearest flower planting and leapt at the man, but all hell broke loose when the assassin proved he was not alone. Two, three more assassins appeared, their faces masked, and Ulrich dimly heard the first alerts of the Seraph guarding the Plaza. He just had to stay up long enough for them to come…

Except, there were more assassins coming. Good assassins, and for the life of him, Ulrich couldn't begin to grasp why they were after him. But they definitely were… He managed to find a halfheartedly secure position up against one of the graceful stone archways that marked off the hub of the Plaza; at least no assassin would get behind him.

He could hear Pierce shouting, but his voice was far away. Too far to be of any help. Ulrich gritted his teeth and stared…both of his minions were lying in immobile heaps on the mossy stone pathway before him. Easily remedied, and once he had another set up and running, they'd show him where his nearest target was…

A second pair boiled up, identical to the first, and were scrambling into a run before their claws hit stone. They broke to his left, and he nodded, listening to their progress. Just on the other side of the archway… He rolled out, and got his first revised look around. He was not alone, finally, but the support that had made it to him first was enough to make him cringe. He'd been hoping for Seraph support, people he knew, people he'd aided, not… The Shining Blade. But this side was closer to their offices and barracks than the Seraph's, and a large group of really good assassins this close to the Palace would bring them down in droves. And he was willing to take whatever help he could get at that moment, even if it happened to from exemplars of that group because it was getting more and more difficult to hold his thoughts together, to fight. All he wanted to do was sit down, no, lay down. He felt fuzzy, shaky, jittery and suddenly way too hot for what had been such a cool evening.

The world wavered and he went to his knees. The two exemplar were over him in an instant, guarding. Then there was silence, except for the rising buzz in Ulrich's ears.

"Ulrich?" Pierce. He recognized the voice, even if he couldn't quite get his eyes to focus correctly.

"You know him? You vouch for him?" One of the exemplars, the female one, demanded abruptly.

Pierce snorted rudely, and Ulrich sensed that he knelt down. "This is Ulrich, Hero of Shaemoor. Works in our office, if you need someone to vouch for him, I suggest you go to Countess Anise…"

"No need… Countess Anise is right here, what's going on here?" Anise's oh so precisely noble voice cut through the hubbub and the buzzing and Ulrich did his best to focus on her, even if standing was quite beyond him.

"Assassination attempt…"

"By the White Mantle." The male exemplar had returned.

"All fascinating." Pierce growled, "And it will be an assassination success if we don't stop yammering. He's been poisoned."

Oh, yes, that would explain so many things, but not the most driving and important question…why had he been targeted in the first place? Was it a simple case of mistaken identity?


	14. Chapter 14

Anise frowned, turning thoughts over in her head and a medallion over in her fingers. She'd seen its like before, in fact, she owned one herself… presented by Queen Jennah on the day that Anise had taken up the burden of being Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade. Varich Stalven. The name was not familiar, but it should be, if he'd been granted this by Jennah's father.

"The White Mantle is after Ulrich." She marveled, glancing at her desk. A folded sheet of vellum rested there, but she'd read it enough times to commit it to memory. She'd replayed through both Ulrich's rather fuddled and drugged memories and Pierce's clear ones. The note, the medallion, both sent to Ulrich. The assassins had targeted him; it had been no distraction to pull her people off of Jennah. Ulrich had been their target.

"Here." Salia finally stated. "Varich and Suilia Stalven. They're certainly in our hidden rolls, but not in our public ones."

Anise grimaced. There was only one reason for people to be in one, and blatantly missing from the other… covert agents. "And." Salia breathed, "They had a child, a son."

"Ulrich."

"Yes."

"So he's ours." Even as she said it, she shook her head. No, his parents had belonged to the Shining Blade, but he belonged to the Seraph. It answered certain questions, but gave birth to a thousand more. She knew who was missing their all too fine example of young Ascalonian male now, but she knew the silence from Salia was not a good thing. "And his parents?"

"We don't know. Contact was lost with them…" She flipped pages, "Thirteen years ago. Last message suggested that they had been compromised by the White Mantle."

"Coming to finish a job only partially complete."

"Looks to be."

And they'd been willing to send a dozen assassins to get it finished, and had deployed them right under the Queen's door. "Recall Thackeray." She stated smoothly. Ulrich and the Queen were his personal responsibility; he could come help deal with this as well and she'd just feel a little safer knowing he was back.

"Your Excellency." Ah, Salia's partner, Mehid. He had been in the Plaza during the attempt, and had taken responsibility for the assassins' remains. "It is as we thought. They definitely seem to be White Mantle assassins." The man stepped into the light, and Anise reined back her usual smirk. The man's hair was… unique. He had to spend a whole lot of time, and gold, to get it to behave in such an unnatural way… and he obviously thought it, and he, were the cat's meow. Anise had spent way too much time with commoners such as Thackeray; she now saw such affectations as pompous and silly. But Mehid was a good man, dedicated, smart and loyal. Hopefully, however, he'd suffer a near miss from a centaur with a very sharp axe at some point in the near future.

"And their target was definitely Ulrich?"

"Absolutely."

Fascinating. She loved being proved right. Logan had gently teased her over it, but she'd known the moment her eyes fell on that one that he was no simple guttersnipe. His parents had been Shining Blade agents, good Shining Blades agents, who had presumably died in service to their king. Ulrich belonged in the secure grip of one of the Orders, and Seraph was good enough. She sighed, and waved Mehid to go away and leave her to her thoughts. He did so, and she remained in the calming silence of her office, drinking in the peace. It was false, it was fleeting, but she'd take it while she could.

A shadow grew large in the doorway, and Logan stalked out of it, hand on the hilt of his brother's sword. "Trouble, Anise?" He growled.

"The White Mantle is at work in Divinity's Reach."

Both of his brows shot up, and he jerked upright, losing the entire I am ominous, I am threatening! aura he had surrounded himself with. "Eh?" He demanded, dropping into the nearest chair able to support his harnessed weight and stared up at her. "Within the City's walls?" He echoed thoughtfully, nodding. Of course that made it his concern.

"Within the walls." She chuckled darkly, "In fact, within the Central Plaza itself."

He surged back to his feet, ignoring the chair he'd been in as it fell over behind him. "The Queen?"

"Is…aware…that there was an assassination attempt earlier tonight within the Central Plaza. She was not the target, however, and was never in danger."

"The Ministry?"

"Again, aware, but not the target."

He glowered at her for a long moment, replacing the chair on its legs, but choosing to sit much closer to where he knew she'd eventually settle at. "Who?" He finally asked softly.

"We, the Shining Blade under Jennah's father, had two agents deep in the Mantle. Thirteen years ago, we lost touch with them after they sent a final report that they believed they'd been uncovered. Their names were Varich and Suilia Stalven." She was expecting his vague shrug, if she hadn't known them, then he certainly wouldn't.

"Varich and Suilia were married, and they had one child, a son. His name was Ulrich."

"Ulrich."

"He was apparently four then. Would make him seventeen today. Descriptions of Suilia that we've uncovered state that she possessed lovely reddish blonde hair. Varich is described as less than average height, brown eyes, lithe to the point of being almost scrawny."

"Ouch." He rested his ankle on his knee, ignoring the grind of armor plates as he did so. "I assume Ulrich is fine, since you used the term 'attempted'."

"He'll be fine. Two of my exemplars made it to him quickly enough. His fairly recent habit of not leaving the Upper City must have forced them into confronting him up here. Our guess is that he popped up in their view after he started working for the Seraph, but by then…"

"He was leery of getting himself shivved in an alleyway by someone out to avenge Two-Blade's death. That's one of the reasons I started him with an office job, and then made it really easy for him to stay put for awhile. Feed him, house him, and clothe him, why would he go down into the city until things calmed?"

"You're not as dumb as you look."

"Why, thank you! No, wait…" He grinned and nodded. "Good. Good. I'd rather have them out in the open than jumping at shadows and being told I'm being paranoid. If we've got dead assassins…" He glanced at her and she nodded briskly, "From the Central Plaza, the Ministry and the Ministry Guard can't deny that the Mantle still exists and that they're still a problem."

"We have eight dead assassins."

"Eight?"

"Dead. My reports have some getting away. They wanted Ulrich badly enough to send a dozen."

"They're afraid of…" He got a thoughtful look, "A martyr? A champion against them?"

"Could be. They're difficult to make sense out of. Not really known for sanity, Logan. For all I know, the Mursaat told them that his bloodline must be eradicated at all costs."

He gave her a disgusted grimace, but no argument. There really wasn't an argument to that. The White Mantle did not worship any of the Six Gods worshipped in Divinity's Reach, in Kryta. They worshipped a shadowy and secretive group of gifted spellcasters called the Mursaat. And their motivations were not always clear, but did manage to be almost universally contrary to what Kryta needed. The Shining Blade had been organized originally to counter their actions, to save Kryta. Anise felt both soberly resigned to such a concrete sign that they were still in action, and a bit of a thrill that they'd showed themselves again. As Logan noted, better to guess they were coming. "As long as he's fine."

"He'll be fine."

Again the brow jumped, and she shrugged. "He was mildly poisoned. Like I said, my exemplars were on top of things."

"So who do I owe thanks to?"

Nobody. Just the knowledge that they had concrete evidence that the Mantle was active again was thanks enough. But that wouldn't be enough for Logan… "Mehid."

"Mehid?" He scrunched his face up, and put the back of his wrist against his forehead, fingers jutting before him like a vertical line of horns. "The guy with the rooster hair?"

"Yes. Mehid. The young man with the rather…er…ornate hairstyle." As much as she agreed with Thackeray in her heart, it just wouldn't do to denigrate a young nobleman's high fashioned style. "He's a fine exemplar." And hopefully, one of these days, he'd outgrow the pomp he liked to surround himself with.

"Never said he wasn't." There was just the hint of a smirk on the corner of his lips, not enough to call him on, and she glared at him. She'd heard way too many remarks from him that came perilously close to calling the Shining Blade too pretty to be effective. She knew, however, that it was his response to way too many calling the mainline Seraph forces too rough looking to be a disciplined fighting force. For every wing adorned Seraph gloriously guarding Divinity's Reach, he had ten Seraph archers garbed in plain brown out in Queensdale trying to pick off centaurs. "What now?" He asked, and she shrugged.

"We found some information on the bodies as to where they were from, and we know that the Mantle is not going to swallow their failure to remove Ulrich so easily. They'll pop up to try again. And now that Ulrich knows some things, he's the sort to pursue it…and I'd rather he pursued them under my watch, with an exemplar back up. Let him go look for his parents, with Mehid and Salia to help keep him safe."

"Agreed. If they were indeed agents of the Shining Blade, then we owe it to them to find out what happened to them. And we owe it to Ulrich to lay that part of his past to rest. He's not a street urchin…"

"No. He's the lost child of two of my Order's agents. I'll see him treated that way." She glared forward, feeling Logan's intent stare on her. "I know he's with the Seraph. You saw him through Shaemoor and taking down his gang, but that doesn't lessen my debts here, Logan."

"We're on the same side, Anise. I'm perfectly happy to have one of my people have ties to the Shining Blade. But yes, Ulrich will go hunting. I'd prefer he do so with backup, and a couple of exemplars work for me. The Mantle is nothing I will take lightly…"

No, definitely not. They might currently be after a young necromancer, but eventually they'd broaden their horizons to go after their favored target…the ruler of Kryta.


	15. Chapter 15

Walking. The day had started off as quite the adventure, but by noon, Ulrich was rethinking it as such. He'd done a lot of running around as a youngster, earning pennies by running notes around Divinity's Reach. But as he'd matured, his world had shrank to just a couple of neighborhoods in the city, and the amount of traveling he'd done had dwindled. Why would he need to walk farther than the next neighborhood over? Why would he need to leave Divinity's Reach? Most of the time, he had just waited.

And then, he'd become a clerk, of all things. He walked from his barracks to his office. He occasionally climbed down to sense the catacombs. If he was feeling particularly brave, he stood on the rickety walk over the Great Collapse to see if he felt anything ominous from the breached entrails of the city's catacombs. It was almost laughable, as someone who had lived his life skinny and hungry, he realized he was out of shape and winded.

At least he was lucky enough to take this trip well dressed and well shod. No more bare feet for Ulrich Stalven, he wore sturdy shoes and thick socks to cushion them. He wore a substantial coat against the bitter breeze, gloves on his hands, and if got cold enough to need it, a knitted hat and scarf in his pack. "Sorry." He muttered when Salia glanced back at him. Mehid was somewhere farther ahead, scouting, and it was a damned shame he couldn't keep up with these two...they were in plate armor.

"No." She disagreed. "We were expecting it."

Wonderful. Expecting him to be as slow as a petted nobleman? He made a noncommittal noise, and she gazed back at him in exasperation.

"Ulrich. You're coming off of a bad injury. You've finally gained enough weight to where I don't think I need to tie you down in a sharp breeze. Nothing in your life before was exactly conducive to making you healthy or strong. You needed these months to recover, but yes, it's left you a little off of your game." She grinned at him, "But the best way to get you back there is to..." She waved at the path ahead of him and he sighed in barely disguised disgust. "Keep walking." Her gaze went upwards, and she shrugged. "Almost lunchtime anyway."

"Lunch." Yes, his stomach had been making that same hint for the past mile, and he wrinkled a lip. "I used..."

"To be able to do without. Yes, you looked it and that wasn't good either. Now that you're well again, now that you're not a weed, we can get some muscles put on you. You may be a clerk, but you're one of Logan's clerks, and that's a combat position if I've ever seen one. You're one of his few necromancers, and I can guarantee you that you won't stay a clerk long. This is just an interlude, Ulrich. Time to recover. Time to grow up. Get your feet under you. Gain some height. Gain some heft. Learn what you can from the books we can lend you."

Shaemoor rose out of the low lying mist, and Ulrich smiled. He'd been here before, he still hadn't stepped off into the unknown. He hadn't spent much time here, at least not while he was conscious, and the idea made him frown again. Hero of Shaemoor, and it was bare wisp of a memory. "Mehid should be at the inn waiting for us. We'll have lunch there, and spend the night at the garrison."

Oh, good. Ulrich had been afraid to ask about that part of it. He couldn't imagine sleeping without being held in walls, camping in a place he knew all too well was overrun by centaurs and other things that wouldn't like him. Divinity's Reach had been bad enough, but at least he understood how to hide there, how to escape notice. "Will we..." It sounded stupid to ask the words that wouldn't come. How childish to even consider it. Certainly part of this trip was on the Queen's behalf, but his limiting presence added to it was strictly for his benefit, not the Shining Blade's. Not Salia's. Not Mehid's. Neither one of those two had known of his parents' very existences before this...

"Weather permitting, we have planned overnight lodgings the whole way."

Weather permitting. Ulrich gazed up, into the sullen underbelly of the autumn sky. Well, he'd done a lot of praying to escape rain before, nothing new about that. It even worked, sometimes. But he'd spent too many nights huddled behind a crate in Rook's Row, trying to stay out of the worst of it. Worse, had been the freezing...

"Ulrich. You have that look."

Ulrich wasn't aware that he had any looks that could be labeled as that look, but apparently he did. And by Salia's stare, that look was not a desired look. "We failed you." She muttered, "We failed them, your parents. You should have been raised by us, in Divinity's Reach, safe."

"Salia...no."

"Ulrich, yes. Someone brought you all of the way to Divinity's Reach, a week's journey. They lost hold of you actually within her walls, right under our noses. Who else would have made that attempt but one of our people? They came so close..."

Only to fail at their doorstep. While Ulrich didn't quite agree that they were at fault, he could see part of her point. A group priding itself on the covert, yet they had missed someone, very probably one of their own as she had noted, on the run with a toddler in tow.

"I don't blame the Shining Blade." He said gently, and she gave him a dark look. That was not quite the response he'd been expecting, and he knew his uncertain expression made that all too obvious.

"Which makes it all the worse, damnit." She hissed, and Ulrich had never been so happy to see an inn sign in his life. As he'd already ascertained, it was Shaemoor's only, safe to try to escape what shouldn't have been dug up. But what else did one do when one walked for hours? What other way was there to pass the time?

It was larger than the inns he was accustomed to, but he was also accustomed to every neighborhood having its own inn. It was also much emptier than he was used to, especially this close to lunchtime, Mehid stuck out like a sore thumb, sitting at the table close to the hearth wall. "There you two are." He greeted, just the tiniest flicker of doubt flowing across his face when he caught full sight of his partner's expression. "Well on time, as well." He continued, his voice just as cheery as when he had started the hail. "Lunch!" He called to the innkeep, then stared at Salia as she sat, his gaze falling on Ulrich when she remained silent.

"Gloomy." He noted slowly. "I take it that the subjects of discussion have wandered there?"

"There?" Ulrich asked, when she remained stubbornly silent.

"What happened to your parents? What happened to whoever brought you to Divinity's Reach? Where did we drop the ball? Believe me, it's a subject that we are scrutinizing very closely. You may be willing to overlook it, Ulrich Stalven, but we are not."

"That part of it is your business." He would help however he could to answer those questions. And they were valid questions. But he had no desire to tear himself up trying to solve this for them. All he wanted to do was find that place, to put adult eyes on it. To fully understand. He knew what he couldn't change, he knew that if his parents had not gone to the Shining Blade in all of these years, that they were gone. Dead. But until he'd been there, that place that all of his dreams were centered around, he'd never be whole. Never be complete. Never be at rest. Until he held it, he couldn't let it go. It would gnaw. Haunt.

"True enough." A trencher laden with roast, cheese and bread was placed in front of him and he fell to eating, more than happy to embrace silence as he did so. He pocketed a couple more slices of bread, and stood, happy when it became obvious that Mehid's wandering urge had apparently dissipated. He stuck closely by, and Ulrich was reminded of the centaur he'd seen on this road. So close to Divinity's Reach, so close to Shaemoor, on the wrong side of the garrison. Not even this way was safe... from four legged enemies, to two legged bandits. He gripped his scepter closer, staring into the intermittent fog warily. It was deepening as they came closer to the water, and the air was chilling as well.

"Ugh." Mehid grumbled, "It will frost tonight."

Yes, but Ulrich was still warmly bundled. It would be a raw night, was faltering into a raw afternoon, but in spite of it, he was still cozy. It would not be a night to try and forget as soon as possible. Not be a night where Petra took pity on him and hid him in the cellar. There would be a hearth and a warm bed at the end of this.

The moon was rising, creating a glow to the rising fog that reminded Ulrich all too much of how his eyes glowed when his calling rose, when they were first challenged by a form that Ulrich couldn't even see.

"Exemplar Mehid, Exemplar Salia, and Ulrich...of the Office of the Seraph. We're expected." Mehid announced easily, and the Seraph watch emerged from the shadows.

"Two Shining Blade exemplars...and the Hero of Shaemoor. I haven't heard that you're expected, but you may pass."

Ulrich wondered just how long it would take before that label wore off and it was forgotten about. He was more than a little surprised that it had still come up now, months after the fact. But if it would get him to that hearth and that warm bed faster, he would not complain.


	16. Chapter 16

He woke, warm and bundled under a stack of woolen blankets. It had gotten colder, he could sense it even if he didn't feel it. He opened his eyes to dimness, absorbing his surroundings. Salia was awake and furtively moving about, as stealthy as she could be. Mehid was still asleep, his breathing deep and tranquil from the corner he occupied.

Ulrich sat up, feeling Salia's attention lock on him the moment he moved with a purpose instead of a sleepy shift. She remained silent as he let his feet hit the floor, using one of them to fish his pack towards him. It hadn't been cold enough yesterday, but he knew today was definitely a hat day. A scarf day. And yes, he pulled out the bundle of wool lurking in the bottom of his pack...a sweater day.

"Has anybody ever told you that you sleep like the dead?" She whispered and he shrugged in response. No. Actually he'd been told a thousand times that he didn't, but so many things about him had changed that it seemed like he no longer even knew himself anymore. A stranger looked back at him from the mirror when he shaved...and that in itself was an oddity. Shave? His clothes were that of a stranger much larger than he was, but they fit.

"Under the right circumstances." He settled on, and apparently these were just the right circumstances. He had been warm, well fed, and tired. "So what's his excuse?" Mehid certainly seemed to still be sleeping like the dead. He hadn't so much as twitched since Ulrich had awoken.

"Ah. Pretty Seraph lieutenant and a bottle of wine. He made much more of an inroad on the wine than he did with the Seraph...he'll wake up in awhile. With the ice outside, we should wait for full sunrise anyway."

"It iced?"

"Yes. Started to rain right after you fell asleep. It's stopped, but it's still slippery."

Slippery. Ulrich could remember being a child on days like this, somehow it hadn't seemed as cold as it had when he'd gotten older. He and Quinn would go sledding down the ramps in Divinity's Reach on scarred pieces of board with twists of trashed rope forced through holes to hold onto. He'd thought then that they were so sneaky that the Seraph hadn't noticed them. Now he understood that the Seraph had indulgently tolerated them. It was a sad, yet oddly warming memory. "I'm going down to the mess hall." He muttered, sliding into his socks and shoes. Somehow, he was hungry, again.

"I'm right behind you."

Mehid appeared in the middle of breakfast, somehow managing to look as sharp as he always did, and Ulrich felt all the scruffier for it. He'd been comfortable with a comb dragged through his blond hair, tied back with a length of cord, but Mehid had still managed to coax his signature hairstyle into being. "Brrrhhhh." He announced his arrival gustily, sitting next to Ulrich. "Cold morning."

"It rained." Salia stated immediately, and Mehid growled in response.

"So it iced. Can't be helped, we'll still make good time to where we're going. Ulrich is doing better than we'd thought..."

That was news to Ulrich, who glanced at him. Mehid only shrugged in answer and gave him a half smile. "I've fought street rats." The exemplar noted evenly. "The fat ones are just that. The skinny ones are worse, but they run out of oomph when you put the pressure on them. You can't raise kids on nothing and expect them to put up a real fight. If they can't get your back, they don't have a chance in hell at a frontal assault. Then you went and got hurt. I'd hoped we'd get here, but I'd honestly planned to make it to Shaemoor yesterday afternoon. Just happy you decided to put some weight on for us."

That seemed to be everybody's thought, and Ulrich shrugged. Had he really been that thin? That desperate looking? Everyone seemed to think so.

"Glad to see you brought warm clothing." Mehid continued, helping himself to food and eating. "We weren't quite expecting this." He waved at the window, and Ulrich nodded in agreement. He hadn't been expecting quite this bad either, but he had been expecting overnighting in places not as nice as this, and had taken into account the idea that it was getting cold at night. And he wasn't fool enough to leave warm clothes behind.

"Is early this year." Ulrich noted. It had been a hot, dry summer, and there had been some expectation of a warm and dry winter. Now, that didn't seem to be an idea anymore.

The sun finally rose, and Ulrich stepped into a chill morning, his pockets filled with pasties, dried fruit pies, and cheeses. No one had said a word when he had raided the table, in fact, another package of what certainly smelled like food had been pressed into his hands as he'd stepped out. "Let's get a move on." Salia muttered, "We need to make the Monastery by nightfall...the centaur will be restless in this weather."

"Agreed." Mehid stated, and stepped into a broadly striding walk.

It began to rain again mid-morning, and Ulrich frowned. What a miserable day, the only saving grace appeared to be that everything, including centaurs and bandits, found it too miserable to be out in as well. The road was empty, desolate and damp. And once again, Ulrich had gone farther from Divinity's Reach than he remembered, heading due south out of the garrison. He knew from his map that their destination would be more directly reached by another route, but he'd read enough reports to explain why the more direct route had never even been brought up. The centaur were unwilling to give way there, so they went around. "What a mess." He muttered, gazing around at the devastation. This had once been farm land, well populated, but now the houses were husks of chimneys and foundations, burned to their supports. Tall weeds grew rampant in the furrows. The view strengthened his resolve, and upheld his path. This was what they should be fighting against. Kryta deserved the support of her children, just like him. Everything that he had. Everything that he was. And today, that meant cleaning out those who would rise against his Queen. Those who had killed his parents. The path seemed so suddenly clear before him.

They made the Monastery as it was growing dark, and Ulrich grinned. It had drizzled on and off all day, chill, with a worsening breeze, and he was relieved to see brightly lit shelter before him. "Warning, Ulrich." Mehid chuckled, and he gazed back at the exemplar dubiously. A warning on the approach to a monastery? "How well do you hold your alcohol?"

Salia snorted in amusement, and Ulrich flushed uncertainly. "Eh, so so." He finally admitted. "Makes me sleepy... less now than before, but still." He was well aware that the ales he'd been served as a teenager were more water than ale, he'd become somewhat acquainted with the real thing since joining the Seraph.

"This bunch are brewers. They'll try to share every keg that they have with a visitor."

"Ah..." Damn. He had another whole day's walk in the morning, with the expectation of a fight at the end of it. The last thing he needed was a hangover.

"Thanks for the warning."

"Just looking out for you. Don't want tomorrow to be harsher than it will already be, Ulrich."

"Right. Are they also expecting us?"

"Yes." And they apparently were more than happy to see the threesome appear, Ulrich had never been so welcomed anywhere in his life. He was shown immediately to a well appointed room, private, warm and waiting for him. A bath followed, and he felt almost himself again when he stepped out into the hallway and made his way down to the hall. Laughter greeted him, and he was motioned to a chair at a table groaning with food. Salia and Mehid had beaten him down, and both raised a goblet to greet him.

It was not easy to keep his mug filled with water, but Ulrich managed to out-stubborn most of the monks determined to share. "Ulrich's a youngster, here." Mehid joked gently, "We need him walking in the morning."

The Abbott, a tall, thin, dark haired man, scrutinized Ulrich for a long moment. "Chosen of Grenth." He murmured softly, "Interesting. And yes, from what I've been told of his one, I was expecting older..."

"Young gives him that much longer to serve Kryta and make a way for himself." Salia pointed out, and the Abbott nodded in agreement. "We're lucky to have found him." She continued as if she was expecting an argument, although she gained another nod from him.

"Lucky for you. Lucky for him. Lucky for us all." The Abbott stated calmly. "But my place in this is to simply give you hospitality for your stay, and wish you the best in whatever you're out here for."

It wasn't easy to leave the next morning... Ulrich had caught a glimpse of books that he'd desperately love to spend time with, but it was simply not an option. What he was doing was more important than that, as oddly as that seemed. He was doing something important. Necessary. Just as he'd dreamed.

The road became a path, and the path dove into trees. Ulrich disliked them immediately, they felt suffocating, ominous, dark and like they were hiding a hundred things he needed to see. He heard sounds, muffled, skulking, from every direction, and he could feel every muscle he possessed go tense, and every hair he had try to stand up. His instinct was to call up minions, but he held back. That would scream all too many things he might want to keep to himself for the moment.

"There." Salia noted, and Ulrich nodded. A fine building, well maintained, out here in the middle of nowhere. Several people...including what could only be a guard at the door. Somehow, he didn't feel that this one was going to be handled by a foolish password trick, however. Working for the smart side now showed him that could go both ways. "Are you ready to root them out, Ulrich? Ready to destroy these zealots?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

He bounced into the open, just a young man, inconspicuously dressed. The door guard stared at him, uncertainly, but that uncertainty fled when Mehid and Salia appeared behind him, clad in the unmistakable blue tabards of the Shining Blade. "The Blade's onto us!" He shouted, loudly enough to stir the dead. Any question of doing this subtly fled, but then, two exemplars and a necromancer didn't specialize in subtlety. And since all chance of it was gone, he waved the minions into existence and chased them to the door. He was what he was. It was time to accept that.

"It's a raid! Stop them!"

No. By then, Ulrich had reached the door guard, moving faster than he was used to. Also unusually, his weight bounced the man backwards, squarely into the door jam. The man was smaller than he was, a lightweight, and only gasped when Ulrich grabbed him by his vest and used him as a convenient meat shield against the first whine of bullets through the doorway.

"I finally get to kill a member of the Shining Blade!"

Ulrich hmmmphed under his breath...apparently that would come after that yelling imbecile managed to kill his own door guard, held by a clerk of the Seraph. The man convulsed in his grasp, and became ten times heavier and a hundred times more unwieldy. He had no choice but to drop him, getting his first view of the interior of the hunting lodge. Except for the dead animal décor, it looked like any other inn he'd ever been inside of, right down to the cowering bartender. "Go!" He hissed, pointing unerringly at the fool trying to get another shot off. There was the scurry of claws against the plank floor, as the minions ran over each other in a rush to get there. Mehid was next through the door, moving sharply to Ulrich's right, his attention focused squarely on the stairs before him.

"Salia, cellar door!" He ordered tersely, and she ducked under Ulrich's left elbow to face the same man that Ulrich had targeted. "Ulrich, kitchen. Clear the ground floor first."

Although the main area was wide open, the kitchen was not, and Ulrich sent int the minions. Better them than him, but they went in the right door and boiled out of the left one, unmolested. "Nothing in the kitchen." He growled back and Mehid chuckled in response.

Upstairs was another matter all together, and Ulrich was pushed behind the exemplar as he and Mehid went to clear. "Stick close." Mehid ordered, as if Ulrich had ever considered not sticking closely behind him. "There's a reason the White Mantle calls their demons unseen."

Demons? Ulrich dropped his eyes to the minions at Mehid's feet. They seemed to sense nothing, and their senses were always so much better than his.

"That's...alarming." He muttered, suddenly wishing he hadn't added that half a hand in height recently. It was more difficult to hide behind Mehid than he'd prefer. Much more height, and people might get the idea that they could hide behind him, which was a truly alarming idea. "I'll stay close."

The minions cut around Mehid, and Ulrich watched them as he always did. They were his eyes...his ears... And they had most certainly seen something. They proved it by dropping to their bellies and burbling and hissing in an undeniable threat towards something out of Ulrich's view.

"No further, or I kill her!"

Ulrich wasn't certain just who her was, but the threat sounded dire enough. And something was holding the minions in the doorway, if it was a bluff, they would have attacked in spite of the words. "Something is there." He murmured to the back of Mehid's head. "If there wasn't, they would have attacked. He must have a hostage."

Mehid glanced back at him, eyes narrowing. "If he sees me, much less chance he'll talk..." He pulled at the edge of his tabard, "But you...are not an agent. He may bargain with you. The Queen asks us to protect her people, Ulrich, all of them. Do what you think is best."

Right. What he actually thought was best was to hide, squarely behind Mehid. But that wasn't going to work. The minions' reactions to whatever was in that room proved it. He glumly slid around Mehid, and made his way to the door way. A young man, perhaps even younger than he was, held a woman by her hair, a knife at her throat. She looked not quite there, her eyes refused to focus clearly on Ulrich, and she remained oddly quiet...she'd been drugged well before this. Why? Drugged, and bound? There had been no time for this, this had been occurring when they'd come.

Sacrifice.

That part of him that led his way through his calling spoke quietly, and he set his face squarely. No. That was intolerable.

"Stay there!" The young man stuttered, his eyes flicking between the minions growling and Ulrich's coldly set expression. "Or I will kill her!"

"This is between you and me." Where that voice, that concrete calm, had come from, Ulrich had no clue. It was yet another moment when he turned into a stranger, a man he didn't quite know. "Let the girl go."

Manic hope rose in the young man's eyes, "You want to fight me? Without the agents with you helping? Fine, fine, I'll take you on!"

"Mistake." Mehid chuckled from the stairwell, and Ulrich agreed, even if he didn't show it. "Try to take him alive. And talking, please."

Right. Alive. Talking. The minions leapt into motion, making a beeline for the man's legs. He let go of a piercing scream, dropping the limp woman, and vainly tried to dislodge them. Ulrich knew that was easier thought than done, they were little more than teeth and claws, difficult to grasp, and squirmy. The man wanted to play with demons? Let him deal with these...

"Enough, enough! I'll talk! I'll talk...please!" One of the minions let go, eying Ulrich out of empty eye orbits, but the other kept chewing and clawing for a moment before Ulrich called it back. "Don't hurt me! The Confessor is in the basement! The Confessor is the one you want!"

"It's your call, Ulrich." Mehid stated, and Ulrich glanced at the woman. She seemed fine, and it sat wrong to take this out any further on what he understood was just a youngster, younger than even he was.

"Get out of here." Ulrich hissed, his voice on the same pitch as the minions', and the young man's eyes widened. "And just keep running." A quick nod, and the young man broke for the door, leaving a trail of blood drops in his wake. He pushed by Mehid with barely a glance, and Ulrich heard him rush down the stairs, and then it was silent.

"Down cellar it is." He sighed, and Mehid chuckled, smacking him on the shoulder.

"Big, bad mean necromancer." He teased, and Ulrich snorted. "No, seriously. That was ominously well done."

Right. Ulrich would consider that later, after they'd backed up Salia and cleaned up this mess. They were hardly done here. He retraced his steps, following the blood trail downstairs. "Cellar." He stated to Salia, who glanced between him and the door that the young man had fled out of.

"Not surprised. Cult leaders and rats tend to end up underground." She nodded, and pulled the cellar door open. Ulrich heard nothing, and the damp fetid smell was common enough for a cellar, but the minions responded with a chorus of yips, yelps, hisses and burbles that he'd heard all too often lately.

"So, is that necromancer minion language for 'there's something down there!'?" Salia asked, and Ulrich nodded. It most certainly was just that. And whatever it was, they didn't like it. Mehid took point, Ulrich in the middle, and Salia bringing up the rear as they descended the stairs...into a perfectly ordinary looking cellar. Which became a perfectly ordinary looking wine and cask cellar. The minions bounded by, ignoring every nook and cranny, heading for a small, unobtrusive door set in the very back of the cellar space. When they reached it, they dropped to their haunches and stared back at Ulrich warily, suddenly oddly silent.

"Not much of a lock." Mehid whispered, inspecting the door, before he nodded and spun with a sudden strength. The lock shattered, the door flew open, and the bashful silence of children caught in the act followed. The way beyond was faintly lit, and Ulrich had always been able to see better than an average person in the dark...

"Incompetent idiot!" So much for silence, the shout startled Ulrich, who backed into Salia. She pushed back, refusing to give way, and he was forced to step forward again. "Failing's not enough, you have to lead the Shining Blade right to us?!"

Ulrich had no idea who the woman was blaming, and when they reached the room, still had no idea who either one of the cultists were. A woman, and a man. He'd guess, however, that the woman was the 'confessor' they were looking for.

"It wasn't me." The man said, "But I'll make sure that they don't live to tell the tale..." He moved quickly, for Mehid, but Ulrich seemed to have the dubious honor of the woman's full, intent focus on him.

"Happy to meet you, hero." She breathed, "Happier to kill you."

Ulrich shrugged, nothing new there, apparently, and pointed squarely in her direction. He'd had enough. This was beyond even the gang's stupid foolishness. This was an abomination. Gut wrenchingly wrong. Everything in him echoed that thought, and he cast without conscious thought. She had to die, and he was the best to get it done. Her companion died in a moment, and the two exemplar moved in, obviously less than concerned about a fair fight. She hung on longer, but was outnumbered, outclassed, and finally, dead.

"There may be valuable information here." Mehid noted the obvious, and Ulrich stared at him, before moving straight to the nearest bookcase against the stone walls of the small room. Books on a wide variety of subjects, and Ulrich glanced through them. If he only had time enough...but he didn't. Perhaps he'd get lucky and these would be recovered, brought back to Divinity's Reach for deeper inspection...

To Serve the Unseen. It was cold when his fingertips brushed its spine, and he pulled it out, flipping it open. He felt immediately chilled, unwell, and a sudden headache formed. "Ugh." He muttered, slamming it closed and placing it alone on the top of the shelf. All he'd gotten was a vague impression of squiggles, the drawings of a disturbed mind, and a phrase scrawled over and over on the back page... Eyes that Watch All. And even that vague impression was too much, he wished he'd never opened it.

"Yes." Salia agreed, placing a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "That would make it real, then? You're the arcane one here..."

"Yes. It's real." Somehow, Ulrich understood that. He turned quickly away from the bookcases, trying to focus again on the search and to leave the headache and chill behind him. Mehid was meticulously going through a trunk filled with ornate clothing, piece by piece, when Ulrich's gaze lit upon the desk across from him. He moved over, brushing aside empty ink pots and dried quills, delving through papers that had all too much in common with the book. They were written in a code he didn't comprehend, and had to urge to grasp...when a sheet fell out. It was first noteworthy in that it was written in perfectly legible and comprehensible New Krytan. The second note was the name that jumped off of it, Ulrich would catch his own name anywhere. Ulrich Stalven, Hero of Shaemoor, child of the King's spies.

Logan Thackeray, Captain of the Seraph, Queen's Champion. Countess Anise, Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade...

"Ulrich?"

"I found a list of names." Ulrich's voice was still calm, just as it had been since confronting the young man upstairs. "Captain Thackeray, Countess Anise, a few others. Mine...with the description 'Hero of Shaemoor, child of the King's spies..."

"By Grenth's teeth, it's a list of targets.. Every name on here is one of the Queen's allies. If they managed to take out all of these people..."

"We won't let that happen." Wasn't that why they were out here in the first place? Suddenly the idea of putting his past to rest fell below this. This was imperative. "I have to warn Captain Thackeray, I can't let him face this danger alone. He may be able to help us."

"You're right." Mehid said slowly, "Countess Anise won't like us sharing information so recklessly, but this is an emergency..."

And Ulrich did not belong to the Shining Blade. They either went along with this, or they'd need to come up with some way to shut him up, because he intended to take this straight to Logan. And every time he'd seen Countess Anise, she'd been attached to Thackeray's side, working with him. Now was not the time for this. "Let's go, we have what we came here for."


	17. Chapter 17

The trip back was much less of a mild adventure, the weather was worse, and Ulrich didn't need either of his keepers to note the obvious. Time was of the essence. The faster they made it back to Divinity's Reach, the better. "We won't be walking." Mehid snapped, and Salia nodded in agreement. "We'll take the Monastery waypoint back to Divinity's Reach. We can temper Ulrich later..."

Waypoint? Ulrich knew of them, of course, but had never had the coin nor the trust, to place his all too precious body on one. He hadn't the foggiest clue of how they really worked, and that bothered him on so many levels. How could he just appear somewhere was beyond him. His doubt must have shown on his face, because Salia gave him a reassuring clap on the back. "It's fine, Ulrich. Most of the time you come out the other side..."

He glared at her, well aware she was teasing him. He'd never heard of a time when someone didn't come out on the other side, and that was definitely an occurrence that much would have been made of. Everybody important used the waypoints, and the Asura portals, and kept turning back up... Anise, Logan, these two, even the Queen... It was just that Ulrich had never considered that the day would come when he would even have the opportunity to... and now he wasn't sure he wanted it. It was like so many things recently, dreams that had become a disturbing reality. Things were moving so damned fast recently. Even though this was exactly what he'd wanted, oddly enough, he'd love to step back for just a week. Be Short Stuff Rick again, just for a little bit. But no, that wasn't an option. There was no turning back, Quinn was dead. Pete. The survivors of the gang scattered to the winds. And he was irretrievably a rat. So many things he just couldn't call back.

The waypoint shimmered before him in the uncertain light, and Ulrich set his nerves. He could do this. He would do this. How did it even know which waypoint to send him to? It wasn't like a portal, those made a convoluted sense. Those were doors between places. "We're going to the waypoint in the Royal Quarter. Just keep that in mind and..." Mehid and Salia both grabbed him, pushed him, and it was over.

It was much warmer, the air still and contained. He could hear the squeak of the giant mechanical orrery which decorated the vast skylight covering most of the open courtyard... when he'd first come up here, the perpetual noise of the machinery which drove it had been annoying, but recently, he'd stopped even noticing it. He was exactly where he was supposed to be, the Royal Quarter of Divinity's Reach, just yards from his office, from his barracks, while the ice melted from his coat. He stepped forwards, half stunned and half thrilled. It really was just that easy.

He moved off of where he had appeared at, and a moment later, Mehid appeared. Then Salia. They barely nodded at him before they pushed forwards, headed towards Thackeray's office. Ulrich should have been surprised to see Countess Anise waiting, but for some reason, he wasn't. Some people just always seem to be in the place, right or wrong, all of the time. He sensed she was one of them, or she was using abilities he didn't quite grasp yet. Or both.

"Hello, my dear." She greeted as if she'd seen him this morning. As if she knew him well. As if he wasn't travel worn and disheveled. As if it wasn't freezing and spitting rain... "I see that two of my Exemplars have taken a liking to you. Most intriguing! I'd inquire further, but Captain Thackeray is waiting. You should speak to him first..."

As if she knew that had already been the plan all along.

"Thank you, Countess. I'll do that." He tilted his head in a slight bow, and took the hint when she stepped out of his way to allow them access to the door he'd grown so accustomed to passing through now. It was warm inside, calm inside, at least until the three...no, four of them attracted Logan's attention. And it was obvious from his still, intent expression, that he understood their hasty return and road-worn appearance in his office meant trouble.

"I didn't expect you back for another three or four days." He noted calmly, "So, am I to assume that yes, you found agents of the White Mantle?"

"Yes." Ulrich answered when the two Exemplar didn't seem to be in any hurry to. "Several. And we found this..." He reached into his pack and removed the list, handing it to Thackeray. "It seems to be..." He silenced. Let Thackeray read it himself, come to whatever conclusion that he would. Perhaps all three of them were just jumping to the wrong one, perhaps Logan would see something different in it.

"A list of targets."

Or not. He saw the exact same thing that they had. That was an immense relief, and even more of one when the Countess imperiously held her hand out for the sheet. She read it quickly, a pensive frown growing on her face. "Agreed." She snapped. She was apparently where the paper would stay, because she certainly didn't offer it back to Thackeray, or her Exemplars. "They grow bold again, Logan."

"And it's time to bloody their noses, again." He sighed, turning away from the four of them and stalking back to his usual seat. He didn't sit, but clenched the back of the chair in his hands. "Well, Ulrich, I trust your judgment. How do you want to deal with this White Mantle problem?"

Uh...what? He had the Master Exemplar standing before him, two veteran Exemplars on hand, and he asked Ulrich? His clerk? "What are the options?"

Thackeray glanced at the Countess, who nodded as if he'd spoken aloud. Sometimes the two of them seemed to share the same mind, and it was unnerving to watch them together, sometimes.

"I propose we ambush the White Mantle. We send an...important...official out to patrol Blackroot Cut..." Her gaze rested firmly on Logan, leaving few doubts in Ulrich's mind as to just which important official she had in mind. "...Near one of the White Mantle's main hideouts. When they attack our bait, we wipe them out."

Thackeray grinned, and Ulrich envied the man his ability to handle being set up as covert insane cult bait, and be happy about it. "And what's your plan, Captain?" He asked,

"A direct attack. Take some Seraph with us to Sojourner's Way, attack one of the Mantle's strongholds near there, and raze the place to the ground. Simple, violent, and effective..."

Ulrich didn't bother to hide his puzzlement. They knew of not one, but two different White Mantle strongholds, or were they just continuations of the same stronghold? They were both fairly close to each other. And by Logan and the Countess's expressions, each of them had been watching one, and had decided to offer theirs up as the sacrifice? The very idea was enough to give him a headache, and he sighed, considering. If the Shining Blade was watching one, however, it meant that it was probably the more strategic target. And he liked the idea of out sneaking and out playing a group that prided itself on sneaking...

"I like the sound of luring the White Mantle into a trap. Let's go with the Shining Blade's plan."

Thackeray looked downcast for a split second, then shrugged and nodded. "As long as I get to be the bait, I'm happy." He chuckled, clapping Ulrich on the back. "You look like hell. It's going to take us some time to spread the word that yours truly..." He puffed himself up impressively, slamming his fist to his chest with a hollow, metallic thunk. "Is going scouting. Get a bath, Ulrich. Dinner, and some sleep."

"Excellent." The Countess stated,giving Ulrich a fleeting touch on the other shoulder as she passed him by on her way back to the door. "I'll meet you at Black Haven. Salia and Mehid have been a part of this operation from the beginning, so they'll remain your primary contacts with the Shining Blade."

"Sounds good to me, your Excellency. I will see you there." She nodded, and was gone into the darkening courtyard, the two Exemplars trailing her path. Ulrich sighed when the door closed firmly behind them, and braced himself for Logan's ire. He worked for Thackeray, but had just undermined him...

"No." Logan disagreed as if he'd spoken aloud. "We asked for your honest decision. And, Ulrich... It's never a bad thing to be on that one's good side. It is always a terrible thing to be on her bad side, however. I think she likes you, which I'll take any day. Now go. Do what I told you to, you look terrible. Bath. Food. Bed. The Mantle will still be there in the morning."


	18. Chapter 18

The bath, the food, and the bed...his bed...were all welcome. It was odd, he'd been here only a few months, a single season, and it felt as if he'd been here all of his life sometimes. As if what had come before was simply a bad dream that he'd finally woken up from. He woke to the first bell of the morning, the bellows of the Seraph trainers echoing down the halls beneath him. He might be a civilian, but he lived with so many that weren't that their schedules had become his. He dressed, back in his traveling clothes, and opened the door, pack already slung over his shoulder. He was not surprised to see Mehid lounging at the stairwell, and the man smiled a quick greeting. "Morning, Ulrich. Let's get a move on." Ulrich wished he could look half as ready as Mehid did.

"I'm looking forward to this." The Exemplar admitted, thudding down the stairs with the same clank and rattle as most of the Seraph did. It wasn't rude when they all did it, and those still in bed were only there because they'd learned to sleep through heavily armored men on the steps. "Not only because we're setting up the White Mantle. I'm eager to see your combat skills again. You seem to be following in your parents' footsteps."

Somehow, that hurt. Why, Ulrich wasn't certain. He didn't remember knowing them, how could he miss them? He hadn't before, when they were just a misty given, and a vague dream. Now they had names. He knew what they'd been...agents of the King. Kryta's champions. They seemed real now, and because of that, he felt their loss all the more. "Have you managed to find out anything more about them, yet?"

Mehid paused in the stairwell, gripping the door pull. "Nothing new, Ulrich." He admitted regretfully. "Salia and I plan do research for you in the Shining Blade archives as soon as possible. If your parents worked for the King, we will surely find something."

It had to be enough, at least for now. Ulrich nodded, motioning for the man to go ahead. "Cold morning?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. It just felt cold. Even though the barracks were always as warm as Petra and her father's inn, The Merchant's Coin, he could sense the chill kept at bay. But not for much longer...

"It is indeed." Mehid grimaced, and proved the fact by pushing the door open. A frigid wave of air gushed through, and the pair of them stepped out of doors. A mass of soldiers, mostly Seraph, but some Shining Blade, had already congregated before the barracks, and Ulrich paused to consider them.

"Does the Shining Blade usually collaborate with the Seraph on this scale?" He asked. He'd never seen the forces actually work together. Certainly, the Countess and Captain Thackeray worked closely together, but they both shared a duty...protecting Queen Jennah.

"It's unusual." The Exemplar admitted, waving to Salia as she caught sight of them and skirted the group to join them. "But it's not unprecedented. We have knowledge about the White Mantle and their tactics. The Seraph have manpower. Since our goals overlap, it's only natural to pool our efforts."

That made too much sense, and Ulrich nodded as he followed Mehid and Salia through the bustle and into the mess hall. "We're not waiting here, so grab something to eat along the way."

"But...?" The group in the courtyard was nowhere near ready to leave yet.

"They'll be able to waypoint closer than we will. If you can't imagine the waypoint in your mind, then you won't go there. I assume that the farthest waypoint you have been to is the Monastery's?"

And that was indeed a safe assumption. Ulrich opened his mouth, a torrent of apologies already fighting to rise, but then he swallowed them back, stood up to his tallest, and stared Mehid in the eyes. He'd never claimed to have been anywhere but Divinity's Reach. He'd been hired as a clerk. He had nothing to be ashamed of in this, nothing to apologize for. "That's correct." He stated firmly, and was rewarded when Mehid gave him a wide smile in response.

"Then we'll have to travel from there to where we meet them, on foot."

Ulrich sighed, nodded, and settled his pack. It was going to be yet another long, cold walk.

And it was, appearing instantly at the Monastery, and then pushing south into uncertain weather. But after awhile, Ulrich worked out a rhythm to his steps, a way to carry his pack, regained his breath enough to join Mehid and Salia in their road songs, Somewhere along the way it stopped being work and just became a fact of life. Less comforting was the fact that this time, there were no convenient and planned overnight stops. They walked until it got too dark to continue, and then camped close to wherever that happened to be. But exhaustion pushed him into a deep sleep, and he slept through the night, safe under the Exemplars' watch. There were fewer stops, only the necessaries, and a short one for lunch.

Late the second afternoon, the high, dry land dipped, and Ulrich's nose was filled with the smell of cold, damp verdancy and an underlying wrong. Beneath him was a forest clouded in a frosty mist, and he sensed a whole lot of water...and something else. "I know, Ulrich." Salia muttered, grabbing his sleeve to keep him going. "You're gifted, and you sense it. Just keep going."

"Sense...what?" He demanded, uncertainly trailing her.

"This is the Godslost Swamp." Mehid stated. "It's aptly named, there are a lot of things in it that shouldn't be there. Things that only really belong in the Mists, but the area is unstable and they break through. With your...aptitude, you're bound to sense them."

"Lovely. A swamp. In the freezing cold. Filled with Mist creatures." Ulrich didn't feel the need to soften his words, and to his surprise, Salia burst into laughter. "What?"

"Finally." She sputtered, "You are starting to let us meet you and not your manners. That is part of the reason why you are out here, Ulrich."

To grow. Physically, mentally, and yes, socially. Ulrich only nodded in answer. The behaviors he had learned in the gang had worked...there. To exist on the fringes, to be useful, but not too useful. To be overlooked when he needed to be. To be only enough to get by to the next day. But now, he was supposed to be more. And for the first time in his memory, that idea wasn't completely frightening to him. He really could be himself. He could be what his calling had embroidered upon his soul. He could finally shine.

The path dropped to a corduroy road held above dark, turbulent waters. Every fiber of the world around him felt dipped in power, imbued with darkness, and he dropped his gaze to the pathway and just kept walking. That took most of his attention anyway, the peeled logs were icy and slippery, and the last thing he wanted was to end up in that water.

Ulrich thought he'd been damp before. Chilled before, but this was so much worse. He'd never been anywhere that hit him with a full threesome... there was so much humidity in the air that it froze and fell like snow onto the glazed road. It was cold. And now, his very soul was frigid from the wrong around him. The rise of the land before him, and the small fortress there were as welcome a sight as Petra's face had been when she had come looking for him on the coldest days.

They spent the night there, but moved on again first thing the morning, Mehid's pace picking up urgency as the footing allowed. By mid-morning, they had come to a road...and a mass of Seraph soldiers, Thackeray with them. "You're earlier than we thought. Made good time." Logan greeted, and Mehid nodded.

"No problems on the way. Ulrich kept pace."

"Good, good. I'll send word to the Countess that we're on for today, and not tomorrow. I hate waiting, let's go."

It was both more comforting to travel with the Seraph, they made an undeniable force at arms, and less... it seemed out of place to carry on as he had with only Mehid and Salia. No conversations, no songs, just... walking. That became worse when they met up with the Countess and her guard of Shining Blade at an intersection with another road. Then it became all business, moving off of the road and down into a cleft filled with...yet another swamp. Without even the dubious safety of a corduroy road...

"So, Mehid...tell me..." He hissed, cautiously stepping into the icy water in an attempt to follow Logan, who had waded in like he'd go into warmed bath water. "Had I chosen Thackeray's target..."

"We'd all be dry." Mehid chuckled and Ulrich sighed in disgust. Now they told him this? Didn't, 'oh, by the way, this area is swamp, and it's close to winter' qualify as need to know? "Most of this should only be about knee deep on you...but watch out for sinkholes."

Great. Wonderful.

They trudged silently through the mud for an hour, before Logan and Anise stopped suddenly, as if they'd both heard the same order. "Get into position, everyone. I'll approach, and when they make their move, you all rush in and spring the trap."

"You, Captain? No offense, but the Shining Blade and the White Mantle have a long history. Don't you think I'd make a more tempting lure?" The Countess asked.

What? Ulrich was aware that a dubious expression had settled onto his face, but he was tired, cold, and more than a little responsible for this whole expedition. He'd thought that they had this all worked out, way back in Divinity's Reach. They'd had time to work this out on the trip in. And now, they wanted to plan?

"No doubt." Apparently yes, because Logan didn't seem to find anything at all off with this. "But wouldn't that seem a little suspicious? You out walking in a swamp, alone, the Queen nowhere in sight? At least I move about on my own regularly."

Ulrich refused to believe that the Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade hadn't already made that intuitive leap, the moment this plan had been hatched back in Divinity's Reach. No, she was just testing, baiting them all...to see how they'd respond. He let his expression fall back into calm acceptance, and earned a slight sideways smile from her. She'd been reading him, watching him, measuring him...again.

"That's a good point. Where do you want us, then, Captain? Anywhere is fine, so long as we're close to the action."

And she wasn't the only one... Thackeray proved that when he stared at Ulrich expectantly. But Ulrich understood this more now, it was a training run as well as a mop up. "The ruins on the top of that hill would make for good cover. They're well elevated; we'll be able to see and hear everything."

Logan barely glanced at them, and Ulrich knew he'd already considered them before he'd even asked. Yes, definitely training. "Sounds perfect. Just be ready to move quickly when things get ugly." Thackeray breathed, much of the levity gone from his features. He seemed focused, intent, and it was contagious. Training, yes, but still deadly. If this went wrong, not only would Ulrich die, but the Queen's two closest servants would be lost. The morale blow would be cataclysmic, and the people who had probably killed Ulrich's parents would just have more champions of Kryta as trophies to their madness.

He climbed the hill in brooding silence, suddenly all too well aware of just important this was. He could see Thackeray's progress clearly from his vantage point, and he settled onto his belly to wait.

"Logan playing the part of the helpless victim." Anise wondered under her breath, and Ulrich tilted his face to study her. "This should be... Interesting."

They waited, Thackeray roaming aimlessly, first humming, then whistling, below them. They're not going to take it. They see us. They know...

"Shhh. Here they come." The Countess's voice was a bare whisper, and Ulrich cushioned his forehead on his forearm, forcing himself to breathe. He had to keep calm, focused, razor sharp...

"Well, Captain Thackeray!" He didn't recognize the woman's voice, but he understood the gleeful malevolence beneath the greeting. No, they didn't know. "A long way from home, aren't we? I thought we would save you for last, but since you're here..."

"Oh dear." Logan's voice was as flat as the worst inn actor that it had ever been Ulrich's mispleasure to overhear. "Oh, mercy. The White Mantle is upon me." It rose in a truly terrible rote singsong, and Ulrich had to bite his lip to keep a sudden tide of sputtering laughter down. He wasn't the only one, the Countess had an expression of complete and total fixation, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing as well. "Woe." Logan continued, and Ulrich could have sworn someone actually snickered on the hill, the sound muted by flesh and angle. "Lamentation! Is this the end for poor Logan?"

Silence, cold, stunned, dead silence followed for the longest heartbeat that Ulrich had ever experienced, and he finally looked beneath him. A striking, blonde woman stood before Logan, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Are...are...are you mocking me? I...don't think you understand how this works. White Mantle! Give the Captain a demonstration."

"No, thanks. I think I already have a pretty good idea. Now!" Logan bellowed, and Ulrich powered to his feet, charging into range.

"Stop them!" The woman yelled, and Ulrich shook his head. A pity, but necessary. He gestured towards her, ignoring the sounds of erupting battle around him.

It was the worst fight that Ulrich had ever been in. Even standing at Shaemoor had lacked this private, bitter rage. Somehow the remoteness, the desolation of his surroundings made it more real. The fact that this was personal. The fact that he now knew the people fighting beside him. When Anise cried, "For the Queen, and for the Shining Blade!" it meant something more than an empty sentiment. This was real. This was important. Out here, where nobody would see, and precious few would ever know about, they did what they could.

It was bloody, and it felt like it had taken forever, but finally it was over. Ulrich sat on a stump and surveyed the devastation, feeling Mehid and Salia flank him. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, feeling his heart slow. He felt lightheaded, tremulous,empty. "Well, I'm glad that's over with."

"I think we were too easy on them, personally." He hadn't seen the Countess's approach, and he struggled to his feet at her voice. "After multiple attempted murders and abusing the memory of your parents, they got off lightly."

"Will you be alright, Ulrich?" Logan had been trailing her, and there was honest concern in his eyes. Few people had ever looked at Ulrich that way, and none of those had ever been in a position of authority over him. At that moment, Ulrich knew a sudden peace with his decision. This was right. This was what he was meant to be doing.

"I...I think so, yes. Thank you for asking."

"Speaking of your parents..." Mehid breathed, and the Countess nodded firmly, giving permission, blessing to whatever he was about to say. "With this phase of the operation complete, I can tell you that Salia and I think we've located your parents' last known residence."

"That's fantastic!" Ulrich's exhaustion fell away in an instant. "I want to check it out. If her Excellency can spare you two for one more mission, I mean." He gazed at Anise, trying to keep the imploring stare he wanted to show her down. She gave him a glance, a sideways smile, and a nod.

"By all means. The Shining Blade is in your debt. It's the least we can do."

"The house is south of Delanian Foothills. If there's anything worth finding, we'll find it."


	19. Chapter 19

It seemed wrong to ask them to go straight from this to yet another trip, but it was obvious to Ulrich that the pair had no intention of returning to Divinity's Reach first. "What?" Salia demanded when he shuffled hesitantly, watching Anise, Logan, and their people move away, back towards the city...leaving the three of them behind.

"This can wait...for awhile." He muttered, and Salia gave him a damning stare.

"No. It will not wait, Ulrich. For the love of the Gods, please stop looking at this like it's a great, terrible imposition you're putting us through for your own peace of mind! Your parents were Shining Blade, our agents. Our brethren. They were lost in the line of duty and we owe this to them. Certainly having you here does add a certain amount of immediacy, but we'd still be out here doing this even if you were not part of the picture. We need to know what happened to them, if it's at all possible."

"Absolutely." Mehid agreed. "Ulrich, this is personal for us as well. If something happened to us like this, we'd want those who came after us to search for us."

Only slightly mollified, Ulrich nodded in agreement. Part of him doubted that, but he was beginning to understand that what was expected in the world he had grown up in was not the world that so many people like Mehid and Salia lived in. To them, it was truly imperative that they understood what had happened to their agents, even if they'd never met his parents. Even if those agents had been lost when these two were nothing but children playing hide and seek. All that mattered was the truth...they all belonged to the same brotherhood. "So we go south?" He asked, gazing in that direction. And, just his luck, it looked like just more swamp.

"Yes. There's a little used path between this road and the town of Garenhoof on the coast...the house appears to be off of it. It's pretty remote."

Path? Ulrich gazed south, but there seemed to be no hint of this mythical path. Apparently that did not bother his companions, because they easily descended back into the murk, wading cheerfully along, falling back into conversation and the occasional raucous song as they went. It didn't take long before the ground started to rise, becoming higher and drier, to finally, become a faintly beaten dirt path leading down a tight ravine. It was confined, hemmed in, and Ulrich didn't bother to hide his expression. If there was more White Mantle down here, they had a problem.

"I don't like this." It was Ulrich's thought made audible, but it came from Mehid's lips. "This way should be more heavily travelled, between a Lionguard fortress and a port town..."

"The head swamp makes it difficult for Black Haven to use. They go around." Salia stated, but she still carried a pensive frown. "It does reek of trap, however. Why would your parents have chosen here?"

"No clue." Ulrich murmured. "It reeks of trap and...what is that smell?" It was a dark, animalistic smell... rather like the menagerie in Divinity's Reach on a very hot day, not at all like a chilly day in the middle of nowhere should smell.

Salia sniffed the air and grimaced, while Mehid cursed under his breath. "Ettin." He growled, and she nodded in agreement.

"Well, it means that the Mantle doesn't have a cell down here."

"True enough. Ulrich, stay here for a little bit, I want to get a look at what we're walking into..."

And he'd just get in the way. It made sense, even if it meant he'd be left alone while they scouted. "I understand." He said, finding a sheltered spot to wait it out.

They were not gone long, less than an hour. Ulrich had fallen into a half doze when Mehid's sharp whistle stirred him awake. "No sleeping on the job." The exemplar teased, extending a hand to help Ulrich onto the high ground he was sheltered beneath. "We found the house."

Ulrich's heart stopped. Just hearing that, just knowing that it really was there, was more than he'd ever really considered having in his life. He was so damned close...he could sense it. Feel it. This wasn't just his imagination playing tricks on him. He was almost home. He fell into step behind them, trying to see everything, remember it all. And certainly enough, there was a house set alongside the ravine walls, empty and sad, with a sagging thatched roof and staring windows.

"Is this the place? I'm eager to get started..."

"It is. Watch your step, though. We saw plenty of ettin signs, but no ettin...yet. But we didn't get close, so they could be anywhere." Mehid tightened his lips, his eyes still flitting from point to point, searching.

"Countess Anise asked us to not say more than was necessary..." Salia breathed, her gaze held on Ulrich. "As this is technically a royal matter, but..."

Mehid only nodded when she paused, not bothering to look at her. She had his blessings to continue, and she sighed. "We think you deserve what truth we can give you. Your parents were spies for the last King of Kryta, Jennah's father. They helped track and destroy White Mantle cells, saving many lives in the process."

"And this was their house?" It was difficult to reconcile this sad, dark place to the shining golden memories from his dreams. It felt right, but looked so wrong.

"Yes." Mehid confirmed. "The last message on file from your parents states that they feared White Mantle cultists had discovered their secret. They were planning to flee."

"We lost contact with them after that. Either they fled to safety, or..."

Or. Much as he'd love to dream, to hope, Ulrich understood all too well that he was probably looking at that or. If they had survived, they would have been after him. The Shining Blade would have been looking for him, and he would have been found at some point during the past years. And now that he'd been identified, any chance that he would remain overlooked was gone. His parents were gone. He understood that deep in his heart. But he still needed to be here. To see this. To lay these questions to rest, once and for all. "Either way, I have to know. Let's go inside. If there are clues to be found, we'll find them here." He squared his shoulders, doing his best to overlook Salia's supportive stare. She knew. And by Mehid's steadfast refusal to actually look into his eyes, Ulrich understood that none of them entertained any real hope of just what they were going to find here.

"Stay alert." Mehid warned, stepping into a cautious stride towards the building. "I see ettin signs everywhere, but no ettins."

Ulrich frowned, how could you not see an ettin? Although he'd never seen one in his life, the stories were in agreement...ettins were huge. Not as big as giants, but still bigger than a male norn, and Ulrich had seen his fair share of those in Divinity's Reach. The house wasn't big enough to hide one...but the rough ravine walls were.

"We're under attack!" Salia yelled, charging into the fray, Mehid on her heels. Ulrich was free to begin his casts, unmolested, while they held the pack of ettin away from him. By now it was becoming second nature, a well choreographed dance of death that he produced with a graceful precision. It wasn't even that it felt good, it was that it felt right. This was what he'd been born to be. It all came with a crystal clarity, as so much was coming to him since he'd left the streets to make a difference. And he was indeed making that difference...

He focused his wrath on the nearest ettin, a giant, green two headed thing wielding a spiked club with deadly intent. Time to die. And like things were doing recently when he made that demand, it complied. This was his place. They didn't belong here, they had no right to be here, and they paid for their trespasses, their desecration of what was his. And once he'd opened himself to that wellspring of rage, it built into a torrent that grew with each of the ettins' deaths.

And it was all over, except for the two exemplars, staring at him almost as if they had never seen him before in their lives. "Ulrich?" Salia asked softly, and he felt caught, like he had a hand in her pocket.

"Sorry." He muttered, fighting a flush down.

"Nothing to apologize for. It's just coming very quickly, isn't it? When you let that go..."

"Yes... it's like a flood."

"Well, when we get you back, it's definitely time for you to seek training. Your calling will not be denied, Ulrich. It's nothing to fear, nothing to bring shame...we need it. It's a gift, never forget that. Take it as far as it will go."

He nodded, stepping up to the door and warily opening it. It was stuck, it took some pulling, but he stepped into that room. It was like taking that hit at Shaemoor Garrison all over again, his knees turned to water and his breaths stopped. He was here. Actually here. There was the floor under his feet. The cold fireplace. The rug, mangled and dusty, but still there. Any lingering doubts fled. He was home.

He dropped to his knees, overwhelmed. He needed to laugh, to cry, to scream, something to let this all go, but it refused to budge.

"Salia..." He vaguely heard Mehid's warning, processed it as such, but it was not pointed at him and he couldn't seem to focus on it. "Big webs in the kitchen."

"I see them." Her voice was steel, but she made no attempt to interrupt Ulrich from his reverie. "Ulrich, I know you were very small, but..?"

"This is it. No doubts." He could breathe again. His fingers still shook, but he was stable enough to rise to his feet and see the danger they were in. "Let's go kill some spiders so that we can search freely." Not that there was going to much to search, it was a small house, and partially collapsed.

"Right." Mehid grinned, leaving the house in search of big spiders, the sort that made big webs. They were in the barn, and in a blind break in the ravine wall..some sort of cave. Salia was the first one in, trailed by Mehid. She backed out, her face starkly set and pale.

"What is it?" Ulrich asked, and she turned level eyes on him.

"Graves." She breathed, "There are graves back there, Ulrich. And spiders, but I wanted to warn you."

Although he knew, it was still a terrible statement. They were still here. This was their final resting place, no doubts, no dreams, no fooling himself any longer. He nodded, gripping his scepter with fingers that had started to shake again. "Let's go." He managed slowly, and she nodded, her face a study in commiseration.

They were right, many spiders. Big spiders, but again, his outrage and sadness was flowing, and the three of them tore through them. For some reason, Ulrich could not take those steps, make that final determination, and although he hated himself for it, he turned plaintive eyes on the exemplars. Someone else had to go first. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Mehid clapped him on the shoulder and stepped in front of him, his steps like someone going to their own execution. He stepped into a sunbeam, the two graves were in an pocket of stone, open to the sky, and knelt to study the inscriptions.

"Ulrich, it seems that the White Mantle found your parents after all. I'm so sorry."

And there it was. The end of all of this. Years of dreaming, hoping, all gone in an instant. "I'd always hoped my parents were still out there, waiting to find me. That's... a hard dream to give up. But at least now I know." He finally gathered the nerve to step beside Mehid and kneel before the two stones.

The larger was his mother's, and he rested numb fingertips on the engraving. Cherished Wife, Devoted Mother, Loyal Servant of Kryta. Our life's labor was to make a better world for the children to live in. May our beloved Ulrich find it so.

They were placed closely enough for him to leave his fingertips on the one, but place his other hand on the remaining stone, his father's. Three joys gave his life meaning: his wife, his country, and above all, his child. May the gods bless and protect our beloved Ulrich.

And somehow, he just felt empty. He'd been expecting tears, but there were none. There was just a sudden acceptance, a calm he would have never expected. It was over.

"They gave their lives to defend Kryta against one of its oldest, greatest enemies. I'm sure they'd be proud of you..." Salia sounded uncertain, trying to balm a hurt she knew she couldn't really heal.

"These gravestones, though...Who placed them?" These had not been a spur of the moment leaving. There was so much care and respect here. Even the way that the sun crowned them, washing the stones in light.

"Friends, perhaps? Fellow agents? We may never know. It was likely the same people who rescued you and took you to Divinity's Reach." Salia shrugged.

I have lost the only dream I've ever had. It should hurt more. It should be devastating, but all Ulrich could do was stare at the people who'd brought him here. They barely knew him, but they'd been willing to go farther out of their way for him than any 'friend' he'd ever had. He'd lost a dream, and gained a purpose...a real, tangible reason to live and fight instead of just existing.

"I want to thank you both for finding this place, and for telling me as much as you could. All my life, I've wondered...and now I finally have peace."

"My friend." Mehid sighed, helping Ulrich to his feet. "This was never just another mission. Helping you with this has been our pleasure, believe me. It's been our honor to travel with you on this journey, Ulrich. If the rest of the files on your parents become declassified, or if any other information surfaces, we'll contact you."

Salia came up on his other side, staring at the gravestones solemnly. "Your story is a strange one, Ulrich, but a brave one. I think your parents would be very proud."

Somehow, oddly, it was harder to let the pair of these go than it was to accept the confirmation of his parents' deaths. One was a given, but a parting from new friends had caught him by surprise.

"That's a generous thing for you to say. If you're ever off-duty, feel free to stop by and say hello. I feel as if I owe you and Mehid a drink. Any chance you'd take me up on that?"

She blinked, then grinned at him. "You wouldn't mind? I mean—yes, I'd like that very much. We'll meet again, I'm sure of it. Until then, stay safe."

"I look forward to it. Thank you, Salia...Mehid. Thank you for all of your help, and take care. I'm going home now."


	20. Chapter 20

Ulrich sighed in disgust, gazing around at his room. Pellets of sleet thrummed against the closed shutters, the cold outside seemed a mile away instead of a few inches. That should have comforted him, but it did not. Not so long ago, this room had been an unbelievable luxury, and now...now it was a mess. It looked like centaurs had rolled through it, even despite his best efforts to tidy it.

No matter what he did, the underlying fact was inescapable. He had gone from having nothing, to owning too many possessions for his own space. "I live like a skritt." He growled, sitting at his small desk. Once, owning a single real pen would have been an extravagance, unnecessary. He opened the shining wooden box resting on the desktop and surveyed its contents with a mix of contentment and self incrimination. Not just one pen, but six, each of their silver nibs differing widths. Not just one pot of ink, but ten. Admittedly, he had bought the set second hand, from a dealer in the middle market, but the underlying truth was the same. He, Ulrich, owned an artisan's pen set, bone shafts, silver nibs and lids, ten rock crystal inkwells, all nestled in plush blue velvet in their own carved wooden box. Second hand or not, requiring hours to scrub out the dried ink from the wells or not, it was a foolhardy purchase. So much in this room qualified as well. A lot of it was necessary to his position, about half of the teetering piles of books were. But the other half were the accumulation of a young man who finally had silver to spend at the book carts of Divinity's Reach. That went for his wardrobe as well, about half of it was Seraph issued, or gifts from the priesthood when he had completed the first stage of his training under their auspices. The rest of it had been impulse purchases, items he'd always dreamed of owning, and again, with silver in his pockets and a shopkeeper more than willing to give him respect, he'd bought freely. The problem was, there was not a single item here that he was willing to part with...

His reverie was shattered when a Seraph trainer began bellowing downstairs and he growled, resting his forehead against his desk. He'd thought, hoped, that given enough time, he'd grow as used to living in their midst as he had grown accustomed to the grinding squeaks of the mechanical orrery outside, of the bells counting off the hours, but every time a trainer bellowed, Ulrich the street rat jumped like he'd been caught in the midst of a crime. He couldn't think. He couldn't concentrate. He was growing impatient, distracted...all at the worst time possible. He felt overwhelmed, if he'd been in over his head before, now he felt like he was at the bottom. "I can't do this." He muttered into his sleeve. Logan had been incredibly patient and understanding, cutting his work hours down to a bare minimum, but the priesthood had just taken that breathing space as their own, pushing harder, filling his mind and his days with weaving his calling into a work of art. It should be easier. Every single one of them agreed that Ulrich was called. Blessed by the Lord of Winter. It flowed easily through him. Now, the struggle was to hold it back, refine it, control it. There were easier routes, shortcuts, but Logan had been firm... he wanted Ulrich trained by Grenth's priesthood, here in Divinity's Reach. It made perfect sense, Ulrich was no fool. The path he walked was a treacherous one, and given to terrible mistakes. It would be all too easy to lose himself on its walk, to let Ulrich slip through his own fingers, a casualty to this power. To become yet another empty, power driven vessel, corrupted into a mockery of the man he had once been.

"The hard way is the best way." It had become his mantra. The prayer he kept repeating to himself when things started to unravel. "I need..." What, exactly? He needed something, things were becoming untenable. And it had to be something concrete. Something he could change. "A new place."

The realization stunned him back to himself, and he grimaced at the clarity of it. So simple. So obvious. He needed that home he'd said he wanted in the beginning of all this. A place for his books. A place for him. Someplace where he didn't live hand in pocket with other people, with loud people, with people whose calling was to beat their thoughts into another with shield and sword. He would never fit in here. It had been a gift to come here after Pete's death. A safe place, secure in the grasp of the Seraph surrounding him. But now, it had become a constraint instead of a sanctuary. But, like the fool he was, he'd been spending coin instead of saving it. "Damn." He muttered, staring around. Now, his discontent here was obvious, and now that he grasped it, it was worse.

But where to go? Although he had been raised within the boundaries of Divinity's Reach, he blindly snagged his Tyrian Atlas from the top of a pile of exceedingly large books growing next to his desk and opened it. He flicked through the pages with ease, settling on the large, water-colored map of Divinity's Reach in the middle...

There was a knock at his door, and he fought down his irate response. The only people who would knock were the last ones he needed to snap at. The soldiers sharing the barracks with him had little to no interest in a slightly gloomy clerk living on the private floor. "In." He called, and in spite of his mood, smiled when Logan stepped in. "Yes, I know...it looks like a skritt nest." He sighed when the man took in the spectacle with a raised brow. "What can I do for you, Logan?"

The man accepted the wave at the bed, at least it was clear, and even tidily made. Ulrich wasn't embarrassed about it. "Been talking to your teachers." Logan began, sitting, and Ulrich shook his head immediately. He could hear doubt under the words, something had Thackeray displeased from that, and more demands were nothing he wanted to deal with. "They want you full time."

"No." Every time that word fell from his lips, firmly, to people like Logan, and now the priesthood, it shocked him. But he'd reached his limit.

"Ulrich. I may not be the most astute of people around here, but even I can sense that you are pushed too far right now. It would be only temporary..."

No. It wouldn't. Somehow, Ulrich grasped that. If he left the Seraph, went into the priesthood for uninterrupted training, that would be it. He'd end up a priest of Grenth, and somehow, that was not where he was meant to be. This was one of those decisions that marked his life, forever. Logan might not see it, but he did. "I admit..." He began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "That things are getting difficult. But I was never promised otherwise."

"You've been jumpy lately. Anise is concerned." Logan seemed to be choosing his own words with equal caution, and that just helped to cement Ulrich's decision. This was where he felt safe, cared about, where he belonged. Not in the priesthood. "We're here for you... if you'd just talk to us. Ask, Ulrich. We're not mind readers...well, I'm not. I make no promises about Anise."

"I want to move." It sounded so damned ungrateful, he'd been given so much already. "This isn't big enough. It's too noisy. I can't think in here. I don't sleep well." It was a terrible litany of petty complaints, but once it started, Ulrich couldn't stem it. "I'm asked to learn, but I have no place that I can do that in. There's always someone yelling. Or laughing. Or pounding up and down the stairs. I can't find half of my books at any given time..." Of course, if he hadn't bought half of those books, then he could find the ones that were necessary for his job or his studies... "I don't want to leave the Seraph, Logan. They keep me sane and grounded. I belong. If anything, I want less to do with the priests, not more."

Ulrich wasn't sure what he'd said, but Logan looked relieved, relaxing and weaving his fingers together in his lap. "Move." He echoed as if it was a gift. "We can handle that. It's easily done. I put you here for a reason, Ulrich, but it was never meant to be permanent, and I can see..." He chuckled, "That this room is no longer adequate to your needs."

"I..." Ulrich sighed, "Admit I've gone a little happy with my new purchasing power. I accept a certain level of fault here, but the noise is nothing I can manage."

"You have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to buying things." Logan chuckled, picking up one of the books from the pile closest to him and studying its cover. "But buying books is hardly anything that we're going to be concerned about. And that seems to be the majority of what you have here. Are you not here to learn? Is your mind your gift?"

Put so simply, yes. Ulrich was never going to effectively wield a sword in Kryta's defense. Although he was growing out of being a 'short stuff', he was never going to be a big man. He was going to make average; average height, average build. Already his growth spurt was tapering off, fading behind him. He was as tall as he was going to be. All he had was a sharp mind and an undeniable calling, those were his weapons. "Yes."

"Then you shouldn't deny yourself the tools to sharpen that, Ulrich..." Logan's words were punctuated by another bellowed order from below, and he cringed at the noise. It was followed by the clatter and thump of several armored souls answering the call, and more yelling. Thackeray took a deep breath, clenching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, until the ruckus ended with that particular unit taking it outside. He gave Ulrich a lopsided grin when silence reigned again, "Your noise complaint is duly noted." He stated drily, "Given any thoughts where you'd prefer to settle at? And I do mean settle. No more temporary."

"I have a list of places I do not want to be." Which wasn't exactly a list of where he did want to be, but by cutting those out, they left a short list behind. "Which leaves me Rurikton, or a return to Salma." The unknown, or the familiar.

And Ulrich didn't like Logan's expression. There was a faint edge of denial, like the man was holding something back. A slight line between his brows, a set to his lips. Ulrich had always been good at reading people, and he'd had enough experience with Logan to make it easy. "Which one do you disagree with so deeply?" Probably Salma, returning to a place that had so many preconceived notions about him could be awkward...

"Rurikton."

Or...not. Ulrich had been considering it because it seemed less insular to him than the deeply cultural districts like the Ossian and Canthan quarters. Rurikton was inhabited by Ascalonian refugees, which he technically qualified as. He wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb there. It could be a fresh start, but not if Logan had real reservations against it. He owed too much, and for someone who had spent all his aware time in Divinity's Reach, he actually knew very little about it. "How so?" He asked, leaning back and watching Thackeray.

"I trust you, Ulrich. I do, truly. But Rurikton is a mess I don't want to see you mixed up in. I will admit that part of my reasons are selfish, but. Do you consider yourself Krytan?"

"Absolutely. I am loyal to Kryta. To Queen Jennah. To you, to the Seraph..."

"And to Ascalon?"

"Ascalon has fallen. The charr own it."

There was a war on Logan's face, like Ulrich, he was of Ascalonian heritage, and his was much more impressive and weighty than Ulrich's. "Say that in Rurikton, and you may end up picking your teeth out of the gutter, Ulrich. You may be Ascalonian by blood, but you're Krytan in your heart and soul. With the peace talks in Ebonhawke, those may not live together well in Rurikton. And, selfishly, I had considered you a possible tool to put into use at Ebonhawke later, on the Seraph's behalf."

"You think they'd try to undermine my loyalty to the Queen?" Ulrich was aware of the conflict, but he'd never taken it from the abstract...historical...to the here and now.

"I do. You are a perfect target for that, and while I trust you, I don't trust the separatists. We've put too much into you, you've survived too much, to find you dead in Rurikton because you said what you just told me. I prefer to view you as a loyal citizen of Kryta, but there are those in Rurikton who would view you as a traitor to Ascalon. You understand Salma. You were raised there. There are people there who still give a damn about you. Most of your enemies from there are dead, and you're able to handle those that aren't handily enough. There's a large, open Seraph presence there. It's close to the Royal Palace, our offices, and the priesthood. I know it has bad memories, Ulrich, but I think it's the best place for you."

"It's difficult to imagine moving back there voluntarily. To believe that things would be different now."

"I can guarantee that part. Do me a favor, before you think any more on this... Go to Salma. Not Rook's Row, because you will never live there again, but to the other parts. Go look at it through new eyes and I will tell the priests that you will not come to them full time." Logan replaced the book on the pile and stood warily, keeping a cautious eye on the pile. "Thank you, Ulrich."

"For?"

"Being truthful with me. Listening to me."

"Of...course."

Return to Salma. View it through new eyes. That shouldn't be difficult, but Ulrich felt a near paranoid agitation the moment he stepped into the magical lift that would take him down from the Upper City down to the streets of Divinity's Reach. He'd left Salma behind. It was part of his past, not his future.

It was still cold, but dry... the storm had moved away, hidden behind the artificial horizon of Divinity's Reach's ruddy walls, when he turned sharply to pass through the same gates he'd passed through thousands of times before. His first urge was to duck sharply to the side, to keep to the shadows and lightly traveled ways that would take him right back to Rook's Row. He didn't need to hide. He didn't want to hide. He had to force himself to walk boldly down the main way, headed roughly towards one of the few places he still viewed as a sanctuary here.

The Merchant's Coin was quiet in that early hour, and he settled onto a bar stool, still unnerved. He wasn't supposed to be in here, usually Petra fed him out of the cellar doorway... the last time he'd been in here was to confront and kill Pete...

"What can I get you, stranger?"

Stranger? He glanced at Petra in abject confusion...then hissed at his own foolishness and pushed his hood back. "Hot, sweet cider." He grinned at her, "You know how I like it."

And she was not convinced for a very long moment. Surely she recognized him? She wasn't just a pretty face, she was smart, quick... Quinn had found her vastly appealing, but that was undoubtedly from that pretty face and that blonde hair, still hanging in its usual tails.

"Petra?" He questioned slowly, and the light dawned in her eyes.

"By the Six! Ulrich, it really is you! You look so different!"

Good different, or bad different? He assumed it was for the better, but even though she had placed him, she still felt distant. Of course, the last time he'd been here, he'd brought the Seraph captain, a squad, and a few gang members along for a killing spree. Hardly what a nice respectable inn like the Coin really wanted or needed under its roof. "Look, Petra, about the last time I was here... I am so sorry. I wasn't thinking..."

"Don't you dare apologize, Ulrich!"

And when she got mad, she really got mad. He had to laugh at her outrage, and she glared at him in answer, but he saw the hint of a smile in her eyes. "My cider? I have coin for it today, oddly enough."

"And coin enough for good clothes, meals, and a silver ring to boot...yet not a hair cut." She teased, going to the back and returning a moment later with a pair of steaming mugs drifting a smell of apples, cloves and ginger. "Unless that hair is purposeful? Think it makes you look dashing?"

Actually he did, but after that, he'd die before he admitted it aloud to her. "Don't want to be too easily recognizable yet." He hedged, and she nodded slowly.

"Most of it has faded off, Ulrich. I think you're safe to come back to the surface. Where have you been? I feared you were dead, and we just hadn't found what was left of you. The cynics said that the Seraph repaid you by jailing you, or worse..."

"No. I've been living in the Seraph barracks since that day." He took a swallow of the cider, rolling it over his tongue. Nowhere in the entire city made this as well as she did, just the right mix of spices. "They've taken good care of me."

"Good. Good. I didn't think that they had harmed you, but you've been gone for so long... I was afraid someone else had caught up to you. And hidden you well afterward."

"No. Most of the time I've been here in Divinity's Reach. So you say things have calmed down?" She wasn't the best source, but that would require finding Riot Alice...a step he didn't want to try taking. He was reformed, and the more distance he kept from his old life, the better.

"Yes. You coming out of hiding?"

"Yes." Even if he didn't come back here to live, he was done with 'hiding'. He sensed her doubts, her distance, and he locked eyes with her. "Petra, I never wanted to be in the gang. If anyone knew that, it was you. I never meant to do wrong. And I'm out of it. I've gone straight. I have an honest job. That part of my life is over and done." Would he spend the rest of his life defending himself like this? This was a damned foolish idea, Thackeray was wrong. He'd never fit back here, in fact, he had never fit here at all...

Petra came around the bar, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "So, so happy to hear it, Ulrich." She said, ignoring a sudden, loud throat clearing from the kitchen door. "None of that, Papa." She retorted, "Ulrich has come home, alive and well. It's a good day."

"Ulrich?"

"Ulrich." Ulrich answered for himself, waving as Petra's father, Andrew, appeared from the kitchen. A good man, one that had never deserved having to deal with Pete and the gang. Ulrich could only hope that their passing had been good for him, and that they hadn't been replaced by another group equally bad...or worse.

"Thought you were dead when you didn't turn up on our cellar doorstep." The small, portly man said, gruffly, and Ulrich only nodded. "Just here for a visit?"

"Noooo." Could he actually come out and say it? And the moment he did, it would hard to back away from it. "I'm outgrowing my room in the Seraph barracks. I'm looking for a place to stay, permanently. Perhaps back in Salma." He was still going to hedge his bets, attach the perhaps to it. Not commit to anything, yet.

"That would be wonderful, Ulrich!" Petra laughed, no hint of reservation in her voice. "The district is your home. It always has been. There are a couple of empty houses on the Bend for sale... Nice ones. Respectable ones, far from the Row, near the orphanage and the gate."

"Ulrich, boy." Andrew sighed, giving him a hang dog look. Ulrich didn't take it personally, the mixture of the older man's weight, short stature and voluminous side burns had always given him a jowly, sad stare. "I know we haven't always done the best by you. You have reasons to be bitter. You should have never been left where you were, and we knew it. We were afraid, but we did the wrong thing because of it. But we'd be happy to have you back. More like you here, and we'd have less of them. Less of them, and the better off we'd be. Let the girl at least show you the houses, give it some thought."

"I need some time to get the keys." Petra stated, much of the joy gone from her face and her voice. "If you do want to see them?"

"I do." It was the least he could do. Maybe Andrew was right, maybe he blamed the neighborhood. He'd never really considered it that way until that moment. Had they said something, done something... He shook his head. The past was just that...passed. Gone. It couldn't be replayed, it couldn't be redone. He made his life from this point on. Maybe that included returning to Salma permanently, becoming part of the 'more like you' crowd, and maybe it didn't. But with Rurikton a questionable idea in Thackeray's eyes, he had few choices.

Petra nodded, grabbed her coat and was gone into the cold day, leaving Ulrich sitting at the bar, pretty much alone. Andrew was poor company, silent, simply refilling Ulrich's mug when it emptied, and placing an early lunch down in front of him without comment.

A mistake. This was a mistake. He just needed to go back to his little skritt room, maybe sell off some of those books...

"What do you want?" Logan's question, posed what had seemed a lifetime ago, back at Shaemoor, hit like a sudden, cold, crashing memory. He'd given an answer then, drugged into cold honesty. A home that was his. A bed. A place for all of his books. A kitchen. And a place for a dog. He'd known it then, understood it then. It had just taken drugs to pry it out of him. And now that conversation came back like a memory jogged by a sudden familiar smell. And maybe the home he had always yearned for really was here, in Salma.

"I have the keys!" Petra crowed from the doorway, and he jerked out of the spell. "There are three that are available, let's go take a look at them!"

It was obvious that Petra had chosen the one farthest from the Row to start with, but the moment that Ulrich stepped in, he knew it wasn't right. It was as loud as the Seraph barracks, close to the orphanage, but it also breathed a distinct lack of welcome that made Ulrich want to turn and run immediately. It hated him on sight, and the feeling was mutual. "The house does not like me." He noted solemnly, and Petra, who had been standing oddly lost and forlorn in the entry, nodded vigorously. "It doesn't like me either." She said with relief. "I thought it was just me."

"No. It's...decidedly unhappy." Although it was cold, and starting to spit rain again, he preferred outside. "Next?"

"There's one very close to the Row...and the Merchant's Coin..."

And that was probably too close for comfort. He shook his head, and she only nodded in agreement. "This way, then." She sighed, leading the way. She took him back through the center of the district, headed back towards the Hospital, and beyond it. He almost said something, she was headed for the rise of noble's homes in the corner of the district, but she stopped just beyond the hospital, in a small, pleasant courtyard surrounding a well. "That one." She pointed at one of the homes facing the yard, climbing onto the stoop and opening the door. The air was musty, stale, but there was nothing malign in it. He was vaguely aware that Petra was talking, but all he knew was a sudden clear comfort. The front room was well lit, dominated by large mullioned windows and empty, beckoning bookcases. There was a small kitchen beyond it, a door which led into a walled yard just long enough for a clothesline and a kitchen garden. Stairs led up to a landing big enough to be a room, over the front room, with the same windows and book cases. The bedroom was in the back, facing over the yard, away from traffic. It was calm, peaceful...

"Well?" It was a woman's voice, familiar, but not Petra's. It rolled with a regal precision, regally enunciated.

"Your excellency." Ulrich greeted Countess Anise, turning to her politely. She did manage to turn up in the oddest of places, at the oddest of times... She stepped beyond him, moving to the windows in the landing and looking down upon the courtyard.

"Logan shared with me that you would possibly be looking for a new domicile. I was just leaving the Hospital when you walked by, and I realized you were looking at homes here in Salma, where he suggested. So I ask, is this is it?"

There was no maybe in her voice, and he knew if he said it, then it was over. He paused, turning slowly, taking a moment to be certain. "Yes, your excellency, this is it."

"So be it." She nodded sharply, striding away. "The paperwork will be on your desk in the morning. You may as well keep the keys." She called as she moved down the stairs and was gone.

Ulrich shook his head slightly, gazing around. He was finally home again.


End file.
